


The Repercussions of Meeting Tony Stark

by violasarecool



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violasarecool/pseuds/violasarecool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce pointed at a boy sitting at one of the desks. “My roommate.”<br/>Tony sidled over to him, and peered at his laptop. “Is that Age of Empires? God, that game's old.”<br/>The boy looked up. “Who's this?” he asked Bruce, who laughed.<br/>Tony looked affronted. “Tony Stark. Haven't you heard of me?”<br/>“I'm Rory, and I definitely haven't.”</p><p>The repercussions of meeting genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist Tony Stark... well, let's just say that meeting Tony Stark = <i>interesting</i> life (and that's the nicest thing that's been said about it).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Whoavengelock the greater! If you've read my first, smaller WAL piece, you'll know roughly what to expect, except this time, with university-aged characters. Enjoy!
> 
> Please note: this was originally intended to be part of a longer series, but I've since abandoned the work. The final chapter is partly notes, partly excerpts of what I had intended on writing back when I was still working on it.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

Tony walked out of one of the school's many computer labs, his bag bulging full. _Just... to borrow_ , he reasoned, as he tucked a stray wire into an outside pocket. Equipment was for the use of students, after all. 

He had spent most of his morning in the huge room; when he flipped open his phone, he realized that he had already missed three out of five of his classes, and what could have been his lunch period. Excellent start to the year. Once he had gone back to his dorm to drop off his backpack and all of his books, he stopped at McDonald's on the way to the science building. 

“One coffee,” he said, slapping a twenty dollar bill on the counter. “Four extra scoops.” 

The girl's brow wrinkled, and her fingers traced the cash register in agitation. “We don't—” 

“Keep the change,” he cut over her protests, sliding the bill toward her; the confusion in her face smoothed into compliance, as she drifted away to the coffee machine. 

She wasn't too bad looking either, he thought, as she pushed the steaming cup into his hand. “Thanks,” he said flippantly, flashing her a bright smile as he strode away. He took a sip of coffee; maybe he'd come back later, and— 

Tony gagged. _Good God._ He stopped walking, raised the paper cup and took another careful sip. What did they _put_ in their coffee? He glanced up at the green-tinted windows of the science building, and turned toward the back entrance. There was only one thing for it, he thought, rifling through his pockets as he shouldered open the glass door. Just two bucks... jackpot. He stopped at a vending machine, and pushed the coins into the slot, pressed the button, and sighed with contentment as the can clattered to the bottom of the machine. 

“Long night?” a girl behind him asked, smirking as Tony reached for the can of Red Bull. 

“No more so than usual,” he said, pulling the tab open as the girl tossed her long red hair out of her way to peer at the snack machine. He looked at the paper cup in his left hand, and shrugged, and downed half of it. He then took the lid off, and—

—poured half the can of Red bull into his coffee. 

“What are you _doing_?” the girl exclaimed, wrinkling her nose as Tony took a swig of the concoction. 

“Mixing drinks. You want the rest of this?” he asked her, holding out the half-empty can. 

She laughed, and shook her head as the vending machine rattled; she reached down and pulled out a pack of smarties. “Sugar's all I need for _that_.” 

Tony threw back the rest of the Red Bull, and smacked his lips. “Mine lasts longer,” he said, and tossed the empty can into the garbage as he walked away. 

When he pushed open the door to his class, the teacher was already in full swing. First year general science. He didn't realize that even _existed_ anymore. He ducked inside, but was disappointed when not a single person acknowledged him. Rude. He looked around for an empty seat. There was one in the back, but he instead made for the seat smack in the middle of the auditorium. 

“Excuse me, sorry, coming through.” He pushed through and collapsed into the empty seat dramatically. No one even looked at him. 

An hour later, Tony had completed all the levels of every game on his phone, and the teacher was _still talking_ ; he was considering writing a new game then and there. “Does she ever shut up?” he said to the boy to his right. Who ignored him. Of course. He looked to his left, at the boy hiding under a mess of curly hair. He was typing away on a laptop, and Tony craned his neck to see what he was writing. He appeared to be looking at some sort of cellular model, and no, that was definitely not what the woman up front was talking about. He clicked something, and the whole structure changed. 

“Are those gamma rays?” Tony asked, and the boy flinched. 

“No,” he said, and his screen suddenly switched to an image of a magnified blood cell. 

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Look, I know gamma rays when I see them. What are you—” 

“Hey!” Tony turned to see a girl behind him glaring. 

“Hey,” he replied with a wink. “You busy tonight?” 

She gave him a disgusted look. “Piss off,” she hissed. 

Tony sighed, and shook his head. “No appreciation,” he murmured, turning back to the front. He pulled out his phone, and opened an encrypted online chat. He leaned over to the left, and glanced at the boy's laptop. “Look, I could hack in, but it would be simpler if you would just—” 

The boy pulled up his computer properties, then with it, a notebook program, into which he began to type a long string of letters and numbers. Tony whistled. “Very good.” He typed the information into the encryption, and moments later, he received a message. 

B: tony stark.  
B: shouldn't you be at harvard, or some other private school?  
T: oh hey  
T: you know who I am  
T: hi  
T: who are you?  
B: bruce banner.  
T: right  
T: well  
T: as much as I dislike the public school system  
T: i also cant stand the upper class  
B: that's rich, coming from you.  
T: IM rich  
T: its allowed  
B: hah. that's hilarious.  
T: it is actually  
B: what are you doing in first year science?  
T: wouldnt let me do independent studies  
T: what are you doing in first year science  
B: completing my degree.  
T: of course you are  
T: what are you doing with gamma rays?  
B: research.  
T: what for  
T: some new invention?  
B: something like that.  
T: alright  
T: alright  
T: you can have your secrets  
B: thank you.  
T: very trusting of you  
T: though  
T: to give me free reign to your files  
B: that was only the primary encryption.  
T: and the secondary was a piece of cake  
T: but do you have any games on that laptop of yours  
B: what?  
T: any games  
T: ive finished all of mine  
T: the good ones

Bruce chuckled as the auditorium erupted with noise, and students began to leave. “Nothing to work on?” 

He shrugged. “I don't have much to work with. The special forces are still going through most of my crap, and the university denied my request for special access to the labs. Not even the tech labs.” Not that a lack of permission would stop him, but hey. 

“Invent something,” Bruce said, closing his laptop. 

“Don't feel like it.” Tony slipped his phone into his pocket. “What's your next class?” 

“Physics.” 

“Damn. I've got a business class.” 

Bruce smirked. “You're taking business?” 

“Mixed degree,” Tony said, waving a hand tiredly. “To follow in my father's footsteps, and all that.” 

“Uh huh.” They left the auditorium, and Bruce waved. “See ya, bigshot.” 

Tony threw him a two-fingered salute. “Later.” 

* * *

Bruce slipped into the back of a smaller auditorium. He was one of the first to make it to the class, and this time, he found a seat near the back of the auditorium, where he reconnected to wifi, and reopened the chat. 

B: in class and waiting. how's business?

He waited, but there was no reply. As students began to crowd the auditorium, he put on a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, and focused on breathing slowly in and out, staring at the blank screen. His head buzzed, and he forced down the bile rising in his throat even as the image of the destruction at Harlem drifted across his vision. _Never again._

There was a tap on his shoulder. He looked to his left, and a slender girl gave him a nervous smile. He took the headphones off, trying to arrange his features into a semblance of normalcy. 

“Is there anyone sitting here?” she asked, biting her lip. 

“No, no,” he said, shifting his bag toward him. “Please, feel free.” 

She sat down next to him, and pulled out a pad of notepaper. “I'm Molly,” she said, her voice quiet. 

“Bruce,” he replied with a smile. He stared at his headphones for a moment, then set them down by his feet. “Are you majoring in science?” 

“Yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I'm not going to be a doctor, though, or anything like that. I'm not very good with people. Maybe I can work in a morgue, if I do well,” she said with a smile. 

Bruce laughed uncomfortably. As a male teacher with greying hair stepped up to the elevated platform, he looked down at the laptop screen. Seventeen new messages. 

T: awful  
T: theyre all idiots  
T: the guy next to me seems to think he can talk his way into anything  
T: justin hammer  
T: dont make friends with him  
T: i dont think he can hear what hes saying  
T: are you there?  
T: oh my god if he doesn't shut up im going strangle him  
T: no  
T: ill remotely poison his food  
T: ill set an army of sentient microwave ovens on him  
T: ill build a replica of godzilla  
T: 500 1 scale  
T: and it will still crush him  
T: dammit bruce  
T: throw me a line here  
T: im going insane  
B: uh, hi.  
T: yo man you have some of those gamma rays?  
T: poisoning him would be fantastic  
B: no. don't joke about that.  
T: ok  
T: no poison  
T: but i cant promise to cut the jokes  
B: just don't.  
T: alright  
T: youre very serious  
T: lighten up  
T: lifes too short to be so serious all the time  
B: sure. or something.

Bruce glanced to his left. Molly was taking notes on some calculation the teacher was explaining. Was that force? _Dear God, didn't we get to that in highschool?_ He watched as Molly wrote out the rest of what the teacher was explaining. He started to introduce a different concept, but Molly kept on writing. Bruce peered closer. 

“Very good,” he murmured. “But that should be a one,” he said, pointing to a rogue three. 

She blushed. “Right, yeah.” 

“Not bad.” 

“Thanks.” She finished the last line, and glanced at him. “School always did take things a little slow.” 

Bruce nodded. “But if you already know all this, why are you taking notes?” 

She shrugged. “Continuity? I like to have my notes organized. Besides, they say writing things down is the best way of reviewing them.” 

“True.” Bruce glanced at his laptop screen. Three new messages. 

T: you have class after this?  
T: ive got nothing for the rest of the day  
T: im starving

Bruce checked his watch. Five o'clock. “Do you have a class right after this?” he asked Molly. 

She shook her head. 

“I think I'm getting something to eat with a friend. Join us?” 

She ducked her head down, pink creeping back across her cheeks. “Sure... Oh!” She looked back up. “I said I'd meet someone. Do you mind if I—” 

“It's fine,” Bruce said. “Bring your friend.” 

Molly bit her lip. “Alright.” 

T: bruce  
T: bruce?  
T: whatever  
T: just meet me outside the front of the business block  
B: ok.

When the bell rang, Bruce already had his things packed, and he slipped out of the auditorium into the hall. Molly followed within a minute, and he waved to her. “Sorry,” he said as she came over, “I'm a little... claustrophobic.” 

“That's all right.” She looked at him expectantly. 

“Oh, uh... where are you meeting your friend?” he asked, then noticed she was looking behind him. 

“Here,” she said, now raising her hand. “Hey, Martha!” 

A girl with dark skin and long black hair jogged toward them. “Hey!” She hugged Molly, and as she pulled away, glanced at Bruce. “Who's this?” she said, raising her eyebrows with a smile. 

“Oh, don't,” Molly protested. 

“I'm Bruce,” he said. “Hi.” 

Martha nodded. “Hey. You joining us?” 

Bruce glanced at Molly. “I guess so.” 

“So, where are we off to?” Martha asked. 

Molly looked at Bruce. “Um, I think Bruce was going to meet someone.” 

“Yeah. By the business block.” 

“Ok,” Martha shrugged. “Let's go.” 

As they walked, Molly and Martha talked about their classes; Molly proved to be much more talkative with Martha. Bruce huddled into his jacket, letting the wave of chatter flow over him. 

“Bruce?” 

“Hm, what?” He blinked, and looked over at Martha. 

“I was just asking if you liked it here. At Parma, I mean.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, it's... great. Nice university.” 

Martha watched him another moment, then turned back to Molly. “So where did you two—what's going on?” 

There was a crowd in front of the business building. Bruce groaned. “Let me guess...” 

They pushed a little to the edge of the crowd. “Is that Tony Stark?” Martha asked, wrinkling her nose. 

“Yes,” Bruce said grimly. He watched as Tony held up a piece of metal. Some contraption that looked like it was made of spare computer parts. Or not so spare computer parts. 

“This beauty,” he said, “is like all of those stupid little handheld tools in one!” He squeezed something, and it lit up with blue light. The crowd gasped. Bruce rolled his eyes. “But for the low price of fifteen dollars, you can have all of this—” he spotted Bruce, “at a later date! Alright, we're done here, find me later,” he said, pushing his way through the crowd. “Hey, Bruce! Good to see you, man,” he said, clapping him on the back. 

“That,” Bruce said, with a disgusted look at the contraption Tony was still holding, “is a glorified flashlight.” 

Tony tried to look affronted. “Don't insult my creation! It only looks like a glorified flashlight. It's actually the saving technology of our era.” He looked at the girls, and laughed. “Or so I tell them. Hey, if they're dumb enough to believe it, they deserve it. And who are you?” 

“Molly and Martha,” Bruce said. “But you can't do that. Not to mention that you almost definitely made that hunk of junk out of a school computer.” 

“Oh, come on, Bruce, don't spoil the fun.” Bruce looked at him stonily. “Ok, ok, you really need to lighten up. I'll put it back!” he said hastily, and put an arm around Bruce's shoulders. “You, my friend, are going to experience life the Tony Stark way before we leave this campus.” 

“I hope not,” he said, shaking him off, though he had to smile. “Where are we going?” 

“There's this mandarin place I wanted to try. You mind?” 

Bruce looked at the others, who shrugged. 

“Sounds good to me,” Martha said, and Molly nodded. 

* * *

When they got back to campus, it was getting dark. “Which dorm building are you guys at?” Bruce asked. 

“We're in the Doyle building,” Martha said. “Roommates,” she said, elbowing Molly playfully. 

Tony grinned. “Hey, same! I mean, I don't have a cute roommate,” he winked at Molly, “but I'm in the Doyle building.” He looked at Bruce. “You?” 

He laughed. “Uh huh. Are you all on the second floor, too?” 

“Yeah,” Molly said. 

“Science floor, or something like that, right?” Tony looked up as they approached the dorm block. 

“I think so.” As they approached the doors, Molly stopped. 

“Something wrong?” Bruce glanced at her, and she shook her head, hair slipping out of her ponytail. 

“No. I mean, nothing's wrong. I mean, I forgot, I have another class, I should go.” 

“What class?” Martha called as Molly hoisted her bag further up on her shoulders, and started to run down the path. 

“Health issues!” she called back as she ran off the path across the grass. 

Tony wrinkled his nose. “Charming.” 

They climbed the stairs to the second level. 

“Mine's here,” Martha said, indicating the first door as they came into the hallway. 

“Convenient,” Bruce commented. 

“Yeah, I guess.” She pulled out her key, and glanced at the other two. “Where are you two at?” 

“I'm a little farther down,” Bruce said. “Two-fifteen.” He ran a hand through his hair, and looked at the floor. “You can come visit us later, I mean, if you want.” 

“Alright.” Martha unlocked her door, and smiled at him as she pulled it closed behind her. 

“ _When_ you're done chatting up the girls,” Tony drawled, pulling Bruce down the hall. 

“No, that's your area of expertise, right?” Bruce shot without thinking. 

Tony narrowed his eyebrows, and Bruce looked down, shoulders hunched protectively, expecting the worst. 

“Too right, it is.” 

Bruce glanced up carefully; Tony's eyes were dancing. 

“Think you can just dethrone me? Think again.” 

Bruce smiled, unsure. “We'll see about that,” he ventured, and Tony laughed. They walked in silence down the hall, and Bruce searched for words. “So,” he said, “where's your room?” 

Tony shrugged. “No idea. I can find it later.” 

“Alright.” Bruce stopped at room two-fifteen, and unlocked the door. “But please try not to be... a pest,” he said as he opened the door. 

“What? Why?” Tony followed him inside. “Woah, nice room. Big room.” 

“Yeah.” Bruce pointed at a boy sitting at one of the desks. “My roommate.” 

Tony sidled over to him, and peered at his laptop. “Is that Age of Empires? God, that game's old.” 

The boy looked up. “Who's this?” he asked Bruce, who laughed. 

Tony looked affronted. “Tony Stark. Haven't you heard of me?” 

“I'm Rory, and I definitely haven't.” He looked him up and down. “You don't look famous.” 

“Stark Industries ring any bells?” 

Rory shook his head. “What, do your parents own some new company? I haven't read the news recently.” 

“Stark Industries has been around for decades,” Bruce said. 

“Right...” Rory laughed derisively. “Well, if that's supposed to be impressive, I'm sorry to disappoint.” 

“Well it used to be my _dad's_ , but it's mine now, so just you wait,” Tony said, “a few years from now, maybe one, you'll be reading my name in every newspaper in the country." He paused. "In the U.S., I mean. But probably in Canada too. How many famous businessmen and industrialists can they even have here?” 

Rory looked at Bruce. “Is there a self-help group for narcissism?” 

“It's not narcissistic when you deserve it,” Tony protested. 

Rory seemed to be trying to digest this when there was a knock on the door. 

“That's probably Martha,” Bruce said, standing up. 

Rory looked at him in alarm. “Who what?” 

“Bruce is bringing in the ladies,” Tony smirked. 

Bruce frowned, and made a shushing motion as he opened the door. 

Martha looked inside. “Can I come in?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said, “just don't bother Rory, he's a little touchy.” Rory didn't say anything, and Tony leaned on the desk. “You're playing as the Romans? Seriously? The Greeks have way better naval power.” 

“We're in the middle of a desert,” Rory said through clenched teeth. 

“So you haven't found a way to make them fly yet? If you fix up some of the coding...” He pulled the laptop toward him, and began to type away at it. 

Bruce sat on his bed, and gestured at the other chair. “Please.” 

Martha sat down slowly. She glanced at Rory and Tony, huddled around the computer, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I suppose, um, Rory's your roommate... So Tony doesn't have his own room?” 

“Unless he was lying about that part,” Bruce shrugged. “I guess he's here until he's kicked out.” 

“Which will be about ten minutes before class starts,” she said, grinning at Bruce. 

“If he stays later than three in the morning, I'm throwing him out the window,” Rory whispered, and Martha laughed. 

“I heard that!” Tony said, straightening up. “I'd like to see you try.” 

“We're on the second floor, Rory,” Bruce said. 

“That's ok,” Rory replied, waving a hand at Bruce. “He's pretty superficial, he'll wash off with the rain.” 

“Still here,” Tony said. 

“Did someone speak?” Martha asked in a hushed voice. 

“Not sure,” Rory said, a grin spreading across his face. 

“This is extremely unfair,” Tony complained. “No ganging up on the genius of the group.” 

“Perfectly fair,” Rory said, and threw a pillow at his head. 

When Molly knocked on the door an hour later, they were all piled on Bruce's bed, watching Ratatouille on Rory's laptop. 

“Run, rat, run!” Martha whispered, pounding a fist against the mattress. 

“Please don't pound the stuffing out of my bed,” Bruce said, and Martha laughed. 

Molly opened the door a crack. “Can I come in?” 

“Yeah, sure, close the door behind you,” Tony said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Actually, how'd you find us?” 

“I left her a note, duh,” Martha said, rolling her eyes. “Though she could probably have followed the sounds of you being slowly strangled if she waited another fifteen minutes.” 

Tony held a finger to his lips. “I'm going to ignore that, and watch this movie instead.” 

Molly sat on the edge of the bed, and glanced at the screen. “Is that Ratatouille?” 

“Yeah. Problem?” Rory asked, and she stared at him. 

“No...” She switched her gaze to the screen. 

Rory shifted suddenly, and Tony slid backward into the wall with a thud. “Hey!” 

“Sorry.” Rory looked at Molly. “I don't think I introduced myself. I'm Rory.” 

“Molly,” she replied. 

“Cool.” He looked back at the screen, where the rat was scrambling eggs. “Can you see? There's plenty of space.” 

“Yeah, just dogpile,” Tony said. “No other way in these tiny rooms.” 

Molly shifted closer so her back was against the wall. “Thanks.” 

When Ratatouille was over, Rory took requests. 

“Transformers,” Tony said immediately. 

“It's just glorified violence,” Martha said dismissively. 

“With kick-ass robots!” Tony added. 

“No, it's fine, something else, then.” Rory scrolled down Netflix. “Are we doing Disney again, or do you want something non-animated?” 

Molly peered over his shoulder. “The Illusionist?” 

“I'm not watching a cheesy romance,” Tony scoffed. “And least of all one based in _magic_.” 

“It's just fun,” Rory said, but he scrolled down further. 

“They have Young Frankenstein?” Bruce pointed to the black and white image. 

“It's ancient!” Tony complained. 

“No, you have to see this one, it's _hilarious_ ,” Rory said, clicking the link. 

They were up to the violin scene when the door handle turned, and a boy no one had seen before walked in, then stopped. “Oops, wrong room,” he said with an impish grin, and walked back out. 

“...and I carried his balls. They were beautiful balls,” the woman on-screen intoned, and the boy peered back in. 

“Are you actually watching porn?” he asked. 

“Nah, it's just innuendo. They're talking about croquet,” Tony said pointing at the screen, and the boy walked over to look over his shoulder. 

“Oh.” He nodded slowly. The woman straddled the chair, and he laughed as she began rocking back and forth. “What the hell is this?” 

“Young Frankenstein,” Tony said. “Believe me, I was sceptical at first about watching this old thing, but it's hilarious.” 

He stared at Tony for a moment, then laughed again. “Now I know why you look so familiar: You're Tony Stark.” 

“That's me.” Tony grinned, and slid closer to the screen. “Then you also know how I feel about parties. Get in here, man.” 

“Don't mind if I do,” he said, waggling his eyebrows, and Tony pointed a finger at him. 

“Pure gold, my friend. Who are you?” 

“Barton. Clint Barton.” He stretched himself across the end of the bed. 

“Clint can stay,” Bruce said, “but please don't invite any more people to my bedroom.” 

“He likes it intimate,” Tony whispered, and Martha smacked him. 

“Ow, hey!” he complained. “What was that for?” 

“Oh, shut up, you wuss!” she said, smirking. “You're interrupting the movie.” 

Clint turned to Bruce. “My apologies,” he said with a half-grin. 

“No, it's fine,” Bruce replied wearily, settling further back into the bed. “I knew the repercussions of meeting Stark.” 

“Repercussions?” Tony pretended to look horrified. “Benefits, Bruce, benefits!” 

“Benefits?” Rory looked up from the screen. “God, what are you talking about?” 

“No need to call me God, I'm human as the rest of you,” Tony said, as Clint doubled over laughing. 

Rory gestured helplessly. “I... I don't even know what to say to you.” 

“I leave most people speechless,” Tony managed to get out before Clint shot a sock at him, Martha threw a pillow, and he leaped at them both, pulling them and everyone else onto the floor. Somehow, Clint ended up on top of them all, preening. 

“Get off, you twat,” Rory shot, but he grinned as Clint tumbled gracefully to the floor. 

When the movie finished, it was almost eleven. Clint rolled off the bed, and threw a salute to Tony. “It's been fun, man, but I think I'm off to bed. Long day, you know? Night, all.” He closed the door behind him, almost before he was finished speaking. 

Bruce shifted a little; there was no sound, now, except for Rory, who was now typing a message on Facebook. 

Martha cleared her throat awkwardly. “I think I'm off to bed, now too. It's getting late,” she said, sliding off the bed. 

Molly quickly stood up as well. “Er, yeah,” she said. “Thank you, though,” she added, smiling hesitantly at Bruce. 

“Not a problem,” he said, trying to return the smile, though it was more of a grimace. 

She glanced at Tony and Rory, who were having a muttered argument about something on the computer. “Er, night, then.” 

Tony glanced up and nodded briefly. “Night.” Rory staring fixedly at the computer screen, didn't reply, and Molly joined Martha as they left the small room, closing the door behind them with a dull thud. 

Bruce stood, and walked over to his black suitcase, sitting, zipped, on top of his desk. He pulled out a faded blue shirt. 

“I'm off,” Tony said, and Bruce saw him reflected in the window, standing by the door. 

“Oh. Ok.” He didn't turn around. _You don't have to go_ , he wanted to say, but it felt like begging. A transparent plea for attention. “Night.” He heard the door close. 

He changed into the old shirt, and took off his socks. Rory had moved onto his own bed, and was typing again, probably on Facebook. Talking to friends. Bruce curled up under the covers, feeling the reassuring touch of fabric against his skin. 

Last he remembered before falling asleep, the light from Rory's laptop still illuminated his angular face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I started writing this before I had even started university; when I was writing the parts about skipping class, and playing video games during the classes you DID attend, I had NO IDEA HOW TRUE THAT WOULD BE.


	2. Bad Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is Tony. No one has really realized quite what this means... yet.
> 
> After today, they're starting to.

  
_Tony Mother-Fucking Stark, 5:17pm_  
outside the art building. bring your friends if you want

Bruce stared at his phone for a moment, then checked his contacts. Yup, there was “Tony mother-fucking Stark”—he wasn't sure when the name got into his phone, but he was pretty sure about who was responsible. 

Bruce walked over to Rory, who had just gotten back from his last class of the day, and showed him the text. 

Rory laughed. “Should I be worried?” 

“I hope not,” Bruce said with a smile. 

“Well, let me finish what I'm doing.” 

“Ok,” Bruce replied. He sat on the edge of his bed, watched Rory clicking, typing. 

Rory glanced up. “You going to... Are you gonna ask the girls? If they want to come along?” 

Bruce blinked. “Uh... I guess?” He stood up, not moving for a moment. 

Rory closed his laptop. “C'mon, man, let's see if they're around.” 

Bruce followed him out the door, locking it behind them as Rory kept going, and knocked on their door, waiting as Bruce approached. The door opened. 

“Oh, hi.” Molly stared at Rory, then, when he didn't reply, glanced over at Bruce in confusion. 

Bruce looked away from Rory, and suppressed a smile. “Hey.” 

“Who is it?” came a voice from inside, _Martha_ , and Molly opened the door a little wider as her friend came up behind her, her hair up in a towel. “Oh, hey!” Martha said with a grin. “What's up?” 

Bruce nudged Rory, who straightened abruptly. “You busy?” Rory asked. 

Martha shook her head vigorously, then yelped as her towel fell over her eyes. She pulled it off, wincing as she pulled hair. “Well, crap,” she said, tossing it behind her. There was an audible thump as it hit the floor. 

“So you're not busy?” Rory said with a grin. 

“Give me a minute,” Martha laughed, turning back into the room. Molly hesitated at the door. 

“How are your classes?” Bruce asked, and Molly turned toward him gratefully. 

“Not too bad.” She glanced inside, then back at Bruce. “I haven't seen you in any other classes... But I suppose you're not taking physical health classes, or Latin,” she added with a small smile. 

“Latin?” Rory asked incredulously. 

“Foreign languages are recommended for medical studies,” Molly explained. 

“You're in medical studies?” Rory looked between Bruce and Molly with such an expression of surprise that Molly burst out laughing. Bruce chuckled. “What?” Rory demanded. “I've never seen you around.” 

“Nursing classes _are_ very specialized,” Bruce put in. 

“Not all of them...” 

“You're in nursing?” 

“Ready to go!” 

Three voices came in unison as Martha stepped around Molly out the door. “We are going, aren't we?” she added. 

Bruce nodded, and they moved back as Molly followed Martha out, and locked their door. 

The sun shone warm on their backs as they made their way to the arts building. 

“You wouldn't believe what my English teacher's like,” Martha said, walking backward a few paces ahead to face them. 

“Why are you taking English?” Bruce asked. 

Martha shrugged. “Recommended for medical studies. And I like writing. But the teacher...” 

“Oh, god,” Rory said. 

“I know, right? And—wait, what are you looking at?” Martha turned, and Bruce followed Rory's gaze. 

“Oh,” Molly said in a slightly high-pitched voice. 

Tony was lying flat in the grass on his back, just visible beneath the form of a slender girl, her sandy hair tumbling down her back. She was kissing him enthusiastically, and Tony's hands slid down her back, and grasped her rear. 

Martha turned back around. “Charming.” 

Rory raised his hands exasperation. “No,” he said, walking away. The others followed suit. 

“Hey!” 

Bruce turned. 

Tony stood up abruptly, facing them. He waved Bruce over, who approached reluctantly. “What are you doing here?” Tony asked. 

Bruce frowned. “You texted me.” 

Tony's head turned; “see you, babe,” he said, waving as the blonde walked away. 

Bruce fiddled with a button on his shirt. 

Tony turned back to Bruce. “She's a beauty. Best kept short and sweet, though. Hey,” he said, looking over Bruce's shoulder, “tell your friends to stop skulking in the shadows and get over here!” 

Bruce watched Molly glance at Martha, who shrugged, and walked toward them, Rory, following, muttering under his breath. 

“Oh, right,” Tony glanced at Bruce, “can I borrow your phone?” 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Bruce dug into his backpack, and pulled out a battered grey phone. 

“Is that a _Motorola_?” Tony demanded, grabbing the phone, sliding the keyboard out as he flung himself on the grass. “2009? That's ridiculous, I expected more of you!” 

Bruce shrugged awkwardly, and sat down as well as Tony began typing on the tiny keyboard. “It was cheap.” 

As the others reached them, they sat down in the grass. 

“Isn't that your phone?” Rory asked Bruce. 

“Holy shit, but this hasn't been used for more than a few months!” Tony said, staring at the tiny screen. “What did you do, take a sledgehammer to it?” 

Bruce forced a laugh. “Something like that,” he said, but Tony was no longer paying attention. 

“Huh,” he said, flipping the phone sideways, closing the keyboard. “Here, you can have this back,” he said, handing it to Bruce. “Just wanted to look at something from a layman's phone.” 

“What?” Martha frowned. “What makes your phone so great?” 

“Stark Industries, why haven't you heard of Stark Industries?” Tony clapped a hand to his forehead. “It's you Brits, isn't it? Isolated on the island of dead industries. Actually, about that. Is anyone going to talk about the fact that we're going to school in the middle of fucking nowhere?” 

“Wait, what does that have to do with England?” Rory asked. 

“Why not just go to school _there_? Why would you _cross the fucking Atlantic_?” 

“Money,” Rory laughed. 

“How much did you get?” Tony demanded. 

“Full scholarship.” 

“High marks?” 

“Not exactly... but it's a new school, right? They're trying to get more people?” 

“They could get more people by sticking to Canadians, yet there are more students enrolled from overseas than from the country itself.” Tony pulled out his phone, and swiped at the screen. 

“That _is_ pretty weird,” Bruce admitted. 

“Are they looking for something specific?” Molly asked. 

Tony showed her his screen, a bar graph in the centre of the white page. “That's the demographics of this place.” 

“But that's all over the map,” she said, puzzled. 

“Well, what's Canada famous for?” 

“Multi-culturalism,” Bruce said. 

“Maple syrup,” Rory said. 

“The telephone,” Martha said. 

“Zippers,” Molly said. 

Tony stared at Molly. “Who even knows these things? No, I'm not talking about zippers. Doesn't anyone pay attention to politics? It's like Switzerland, it's—” 

“Neutral ground,” Bruce said, and they all looked at him. “But it's farther away from the continent, Europe, Asia. It's a pretty good place to avoid prying governments.” 

“Right.” 

Martha laughed. “Please, we're not talking conspiracy theories, are we?” 

“It makes sense!” Tony said obstinately. “Why else are they shipping in people from across the ocean for such specialized degrees?” 

“They're not exactly going to take down the government with an army of nurses and graphic designers,” Rory scoffed. 

Bruce looked unsure. “What would they need a bunch of college-aged students for?” 

“Tell me this doesn't smell fishy to you,” Tony said, crossing his arms. 

Rory shrugged. “Doesn't smell fishy to me.” 

“It's weird, but not _that_ weird,” Martha said. 

Bruce glanced at Tony; his head was turned toward the edge of a crowd not quite queueing for the Tim Horton's, but not quite mobbing it either. Bruce followed his gaze just in time to see a girl with short red curls disappear around the corner. _Another girl. Great._ He sighed, and stood up. “I've got stuff to do, Tony. See you around?” The others muttered their assent. 

“Mm. Sure,” Tony replied, still staring vacantly at where the girl had disappeared. 

They walked slowly back across the grass, not saying anything. 

“He can be a bit of a prick,” Martha said, frowning at her feet. 

“Yeah.” Rory agreed. 

“I'm not quite sure what to make of him,” Bruce admitted. “I've heard of a lot of his father's work, his work, but...” 

“You weren't expecting the clown?” Martha put in. 

“I guess.” 

Molly opened her mouth, then closed it, her brow faintly creased. 

“What?” Martha asked. 

“I just... He was very sure that there was something behind the school, and that—” 

“Hey, if it isn't the little movie-club!” A boy with dark blonde hair and a huge grin sauntered over. 

“Clint, right?” Martha said with a surprised smile. 

“Afternoon,” he said, giving a sweeping bow. “Martha, am I right? And Molly, Rory...” He paused, and sucked his cheeks inward. 

Bruce smiled ruefully. “Bruce.” 

“I knew that!” he protested, and they laughed. “So, what are you all up to? Because I'm _starving_.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Martha said. “Dinner?” 

“Yes, please,” Molly said, and Bruce and Rory nodded. 

* * *

Tony turned his light on, kicked a pile of bent sheet metal out of the way, sat in the middle of the floor, and cracked open a Brava. _Right,_ he thought, pulling Bruce's phone out of his pocket, _what do you have for me?_

It hadn't been hard to pocket the phone once he knew where it was. And a quick examination in the guise of looking something up on the internet was enough to tell him what he needed to know: they were being bugged. 

He weighed the phone over in his palm, torn between radio silence and the urge to make a snarky remark about the pathetic technology involved in bugging the old phone. He slid the keyboard down, and ran his fingers over the seams on the edge of the phone; he was almost certain that they had been watched, outside, in the middle of campus where anyone could see them. And call it coincidence, but the girl with the short red curls had been standing there since they arrived. 

He chugged half the contents of the amber bottle in one go, and made a face as he reached for a small screwdriver. The only thing he was unsure about, he thought, prying the back off the phone, was why it was _Bruce's_ phone that was bugged. The Starks had made enough enemies that it wouldn't be surprising to learn that one or two had followed Tony to Canada. But bugging the phone of a student who had talked to Tony twice would make no sense, which meant... 

Which meant that someone else knew about the Hulk. 

He held up the tiny microphone with a pair of tweezers. _You could get a better microphone out of a dollar store pen-mic_ , he thought absently, his mind flipping through the possibilities. 

The trouble was, he couldn't think of any. 

At the time of the incident, the destruction unleashed after Banner's unfortunate accident, Tony had been looking at several small active intelligence groups around the same location. There were several American groups, as well as what he thought was possibly a breakaway from the Russian KGB, but none of them had stayed for long before dropping away. 

“I know you're listening, so take notes: you're really bad at this.” He tossed the microphone on the floor, and crushed it with his heel. 

There was something else that was bothering him, though, and he couldn't figure out what it was. Hulk comes to Canada, phone badly bugged... why was it the phone, why not clothes, why not his _pants_ , for goodness sakes, it was the only thing that— 

Pants. 

He stood up too quickly, and was hit with a wave of dizziness. Clothes, if his clothes were being bugged, or his bag, or anything at all mobile... He blinked hard against the coloured fuzz as he scrambled to find everything that had left his room in the past two days, rifling through his pockets, checking buttons, zippers, prying apart the backing of his phone, checking every piece of computer equipment he had borrowed, _for god's sake, don't let me be wrong about this—_

He stopped, glancing around warily. That was... everything. He wasn't being bugged. 

He sighed, and collapsed onto his bed. “God. Jarvis, unmute. I want a search on all connections of Bruce Banner, the Hulk, and recent science shit.” 

“Would you like to include scientific developments since a year before the incident?” Jarvis intoned. 

“Uh, yeah, sure. Restrict location to America.” He rolled onto his stomach to grab another beer, then paused. “No, wait, include Britain... and Canada, I guess.” He took a swig—then spat it out, “Shit, Jarvis, did you pick up the signal to the bug when I came in?” he demanded, wiping his chin with his sleeve. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He held his breath. “Did you track it?” 

“Yes, sir. I sent the location to your phone.” 

“Why the fuck didn't you tell me?” He stood up, and pulled out his phone with one hand, balancing the beer-bottle on his knee. “Whatever, thanks, Jarvis,” he added, shoving his phone back into his pocket, and headed for the door. 

“Perhaps you would like to read a summary of what I have indexed so far?” 

“Save it for when I get back.” 

“It might not be advisory to go searching for the source at this moment.” 

He turned. “You got more information for me?” 

“You have three text messages and a missed call from—” 

“Rory Williams, I know; Bruce wants his phone back. I'll be back in five, don't burn the circuits out while I'm gone.” 

“I will do my best, sir.” 

“That was suspiciously close to sarcasm, I swear I didn't program sarcasm into your coding,” Tony said, grinning, as he closed the door behind him. 

* * *

“Boston Pizza?” Martha asked, looking at the logo on the menu set down in front of her. 

“Thank you,” Molly said, taking one from the waiter, who smiled, and walked away. 

“Canadian chain, if you would believe it,” Clint said. “Has some pretty decent stuff.” 

“Kind of expensive, too,” Bruce said, glancing down the first page. 

“But totally worth it.” Clint said, leaning back against the cushioned seat of the booth. “I could really go for a meteor right now.” 

“You could go for an exploding shower of space debris,” Rory said, giving him a weird look. 

“It's a pizza, smartass,” Clint said with a grin. “BP's meat pizza.” 

“Hey, I've never _been_ here before, they don't have these in England.” 

“Take a look,” Clint said, throwing a menu at Rory, where it whacked him in the chest. 

“Hey, throwing things has got to stop when drinks get here,” Martha firmly. 

“We haven't _ordered_ drinks yet,” Bruce pointed out. 

“Ooh, anyone of age?” Clint asked with a wicked grin. 

“Nope,” Rory said, looking around the table. 

“Not I,” Martha said, and Molly shook her head. 

Rory glanced at Bruce. “You're very quiet.” 

Bruce gave a half-smile. 

“What?” Rory exclaimed. “But you never drink!” 

“True.” 

“You know...” 

“And I'm not buying anything for the minors here.” 

“Damn.” 

“Well _I'm_ getting something,” Clint said, flipping open the drinks menu. “What do you think, Martini? Hm, they have a Mocha Martini, sounds fancy.” 

“Coffee and vodka? Isn't it bad to mix depressants and stimulants?” Martha asked. 

He chuckled. “Then you'll love this one: Red Bull 'Rita. Know what, I'm game for that, let's do it.” He flipped the drinks menu closed as the waiter came back over. 

“Drinks?” the man asked, looking to Molly. 

“Just water please.” 

He flicked his gaze toward Martha. 

“Same,” she said. 

“Yeah, same here,” Rory added, and Bruce nodded. 

“Well, I'll have a Red Bull 'Rita,” Clint said. “Gotta live a little, right?” 

“ID?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He held up his driver's license. 

“Of course,” the man replied with a small nod as he walked away. 

“So how do you all know each other anyway?” Clint asked, flipping through the menu. “Man, BP has killer ribs.” 

Martha glanced at Molly. “Well, me and Molly went to the same high school for four years, so...” 

“Three and a half years,” Molly corrected her. “Martha the over-achiever managed to finish high school a semester early, and left on some international trip for the rest of the school year.” 

“There are a lot of amazing places to see,” Martha said, smiling. 

“Where'd you go?” Rory asked. 

“Oh, lots of places... I spent a while in France, first month. There was a really cool exhibition about Louis XV and Madame de Pompadour in a museum near the hotel.” She stared down at the table. “Never ended up finishing that one...” 

“Didn't they recently find weird metal gears where her home used to be or something?” Rory asked, as their waiter came back toward them bearing a round tray full of glasses. 

“You mean at the court? She was the king's _mistress_ ,” Martha said with a smirk, and reached for a glass. 

“Thank you,” Clint said, taking his margarita; Rory made a face at Martha. “Stop fighting and behold the glory that is this drink. Fancy as fuck,” he said, turning the stem of the glass in his fingers. 

“Very classy,” Bruce said. 

“So how about you two?” Clint asked. “Wait, whose room were we all holed up in yesterday, anyway?” 

“That would be ours, yes,” Bruce replied, glancing at Rory. 

“We just met during the summer,” Rory added, flipping through his menu. “My dad took me over here in August so we could get to know the area a bit. I met Bruce at one of the orientation sessions, while I was looking at a science booth for more stuff on the Nursing program.” 

“I came up a couple times in August before move-in day,” Bruce said. “We hung out—your dad is very nice, by the way.” 

Rory nodded, then held up a hand. “Sorry, can we flag the waiter back down and order a giant “Deluxe” pizza or something? I'm starving.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Martha said, craning her neck above the dividers to watch for the man's return. 

“Wait, so, hold up,” Clint said, “you three are brits, I can tell by the accent, but Bruce, you're American, right?” 

“Just like Tony,” Bruce said with a wry smile. 

“But not _quite_ like Tony,” Molly said, echoing his smile as the waiter approached their table. 

* * *

Tony stepped out into the cool night air, his phone in his left hand, his right hand swinging the mostly-full beer. He checked his phone; Jarvis's checkpoint was flashing near the edge of the business building. It wasn't moving, though, so that could only mean that it was stationary (unlikely), Jarvis had lost it (even less likely), or it was no longer active. He didn't much like that option. 

As he got closer and closer, and the point became clearer and clearer, the nagging uncertainty grew. He finally rounded a corner of building, and came head to head with a patch of blank wall. 

“Well, fuck.” He glanced around, peering into the empty darkness. Nothing. How could there be nothing? “Jarvis, what the hell?” He pulled out his phone, and almost contemplated reactivating voice commands, when he noticed light, pulsing green light that brightened as he looked down at his feet. He knelt down, and peered at the tiny orb of light nestled in the grass, reached out a cupped palm. 

The light fizzled out, leaving no trace. 

“What?” Tony swiped at the grass with his hand. “What? No, what the actual fuck?” He combed the grass with his fingers, pulled out his phone, and shone the light on the damp ground. “Jarvis, unmute; what the hell just happened? Because there was a light, there was _definitely_ a light right there, and there's nothing there now.” 

“There appears to have been a power surge at this location seven seconds previously.” 

“Holy hell, no, is there something planted in the ground? There wasn't a beam, that wasn't a fancy laser-pointer, was that the surge of something self-destructing, or...? No,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, “what kind of device destroys itself with a pulsing _green_ light? Sounds like something out of a cheap sci-fi flick. Did you pick anything up on scans?” 

“No, sir.” 

“For fuck's sake, what about recent scans of—” He paused, listening; the chatter of voices drifted toward him. “Oh, shit, people,” he hissed, stowing the phone away. 

“Initiating procedure: 'Oh, shit, people'” Jarvis muffled voice intoned from his pocket, as Tony grabbed for his discarded beer bottle. 

* * *

“I am so _full_ ,” Rory groaned. 

“Well maybe you shouldn't have ordered the third pizza,” Molly teased, and Clint laughed. 

A few paces behind, Bruce sighed, his head tipped up to watch the night sky. 

“You alright?” Martha asked, slowing a little to wait for him. 

“Hm?” He looked down. “Oh, yeah, I'm fine.” He gestured at the sky, “it's just so... beautiful, you know?” 

Martha nodded and looked up into the darkness. “There's so much out there, more than you could ever imagine.” Her lips quirked into a smile. “More than I could ever imagine.” 

Bruce blinked. “What do you mean?” 

“We always think we're so great, as humans, don't we?” she said, turning toward him. “But in a universe so big, doesn't it just seem so much more likely that there's others out there, other inhabitants?” 

“Like, martians, green aliens and stuff?” Bruce replied casually, trying to ignore the twisting in his gut. 

Martha smiled, watching the blinking lights of an airplane passing overhead. “Nah. Some of the strangest and most alien things might just look like you or me, on the surface.” 

“Aliens?” The others had slowed down to wait for them, and Rory watched them with raised eyebrows. “So what kind of sci-fi shows do you watch?” 

“I don't know about shows, but back to the Future is pretty good,” Molly said. 

“You've seen that?” Clint exclaimed. “ _Heavy-duty_ , right?” 

Rory stared between them in consternation. “What the frig? I was thinking more X-files, or Star Trek—” 

“No,” Clint said, pointing at Rory, then turning back to Molly, “remember in the third one, when Doc sees Clara on the train, and...” 

“No, I didn't know there was a third!” 

“But that's the best one! Ok, well you know how in the second, there was that cliffhanger at the end...” 

Bruce shook his head; _fans and their movies_. He let his eyes wander over the darkened buildings; most students had almost definitely finished their classes by now, they'd be heading back to res, or home for the day... He squinted. He could have sworn he saw something moving by the edge of a tall glass window. He pushed his glasses further up his nose; yes, there, a human figure, a familiar silhouette crowned with a mess of hair— 

“Tony?” Bruce glanced at the others, still talking, then back to the figure now walking unsteadily toward them. “Hey, where've you been?” He watched as Tony's stepped into the lamplight, saw his rumpled clothes, the glint of light off a beer bottle in his hand. “Ah...” 

“What?” Tony demanded. 

“Are you... are you, uh, drunk?” Bruce asked apprehensively. 

“No,” he scoffed. 

Clint turned toward him, nodded at the beer bottle in his hand. “What were you doing skulking in the shadows with that?” 

“Guerrilla gardening,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

“Uh huh. Well, I should be going, actually, I've got stuff to be doing, and—” 

“Oh my god, crap!” Martha pulled out her phone, and Clint shot her a glance. 

“What?” 

“Oh, sorry, I forgot, I have an appointment with my English prof in like four minutes, I'm going to be late, I'm sorry, I've got to go!” 

“Spoken like a true Canadian. Arts?” 

She nodded. 

“I'll come with you, I'm headed in that direction. Laters, y'all.” 

Molly looked around the group as the pair jogged away. “I guess we head back, then?” Rory and Bruce nodded. Tony, engrossed in his phone, didn't say anything. 

They walked back in silence, the empty campus seeming to emphasize the quiet. 

When they reached their hall, Molly stopped at her door, then glanced at Bruce and Rory, who kept going to their own door. “Well, night,” she called. 

“Night.” 

Tony glanced up and gave a brisk nod just before he disappeared down the far end of the hall, and the doors slammed shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, in fairness guys, you didn't believe him when he TRIED to tell you what he thought was going on to begin with...


	3. Partial Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Power outage shenanigans. What's there to do when there's NO WIFI? Though, I mean, Tony obviously has a huge data plan, so he's always connected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count is OVER NINE THOUSANDDDDDDDDD

"Bruce." 

Bruce grunted, opened one eye. "Mm?" 

"Power's out." 

"Personally, I don't need light to sleep." 

"...Right, sorry." 

"Goodnight, Rory." 

"Night." 

* * *

"Bruce." 

"Alright, I'm awake now. What?" 

"It's snowing." 

"What?" He squinted into the darkness; Rory seemed to have the curtains partway open, because there was a faint light spilling onto the carpet. "Are you serious?" 

"One-hundred percent." 

"Weird." 

"Yeah." 

Rory drew the curtains shut again. 

"Bruce?" 

"Rory." 

"It doesn't usually snow in summer, not even in Canada." 

"Well done." 

"Well, it does in the prairies, sometimes." 

"Does it?" 

"Apparently, yeah. I looked it up before we got here." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah." 

"We're not in the prairies." 

"...No." 

"I'm going to try and get some sleep still." 

"Ok." 

* * *

"Bruce?" 

Bruce yawned, and rolled onto his side. "Mmhm?" 

"The girls want to join us." 

"In our bedroom? In the middle of the night?" 

"Well, no one seems to be sleeping." 

He listened, and sure enough, he could hear the sounds of voices, and farther away, a door slamming. 

"Dare I ask how you know they want to join us? I suppose it's not just wishful thinking." 

"Molly texted me." 

He stifled another yawn, reaching for his glasses. "God, I'm so tired. Ok, sure, fine." 

"I mean, only if—" 

"It's fine, I wasn't getting any sleep anyway." 

"Ok." 

* * *

"Rory?" 

Bruce opened his eyes; he could just about make out two figures in the doorway. 

"Yeah, come in." 

There was a shuffling, and a clunk as the door closed. Then, a thump— 

"Oh, crap, sorry, what was that?" 

"Probably just my physics textbook, it's fine," Bruce said. 

There was a pause. "Um... where should we..." 

"Oh, here, I'll, uh.... Move over, Rory." 

Rory shifted as Bruce got out of bed, pulled the covers up, and went to sit on Rory's bed. 

"Thanks." 

There was a rustling, then the bright light of a cellphone screen illuminated Molly's face briefly before she turned it face the floor. "Sorry, is that too bright? I couldn't tell where the bed was," she said, and there was a creak as Molly sat down on Bruce's bed, then Martha. 

"Fine, of course." 

The light faded into darkness again. 

Someone yawned. 

"What's happening outside?" Rory asked. 

"It's snowing—" 

" _Really_ , Molly?" 

"Martha! Really, though, and I think people are tobogganing in their pyjamas." 

"With what?" 

"I dunno, cardboard, cafeteria trays?" 

"We don't _have_ cafeteria trays," Bruce said. 

"True." 

* * *

"Have you ever eaten snow?" Martha asked. 

"What?" Rory replied. 

"You heard me." 

"Why would you eat snow? It's all dirty and gross." 

"Not when it's freshly fallen," Molly said. 

"Actually even the _air_ is dirty enough to make it pretty awful." 

"Way to ruin my childhood dreams." 

"Sorry." 

"How could you, Rory," Bruce put in. 

"Thanks for that." 

"You're welcome." 

* * *

Three knocks at the door. 

"Hello?" 

The door creaked open. "Uh, hi." 

Bruce was stretched out across the length of the bed. "Tony?" He sat up. 

"Yeah." 

The door snapped closed. 

"So, it's snowing outside." 

"Yes." 

Footsteps close to the bed, then a small thud. 

"That hasn't happened here in... forty years?" 

"No, I don't think so." 

"Snowball fight?" 

"If that was an invitation, I'm good." 

"Pity. I've won many a snowball fight in my day." 

"How dramatic of you," Rory put in. "But I think you're a little outnumbered; I count four to—oi!" There was a muffled thump. 

"Problems, Mr. Willliams?" 

"Yeah, you're going down right now, snow or no snow." 

* * *

"I wish it was raining, though." 

"Rain's so dreary. Why would you want that? Besides, it rains all the time in London, Molly, you know that." 

"Well, yeah, but it's kind of nice in the middle of the night when it's all quiet and wet." 

"You bet it is," Tony said, in a low, gravely voice, and there was another thump. "Hey, enough with the pillows!" 

"Enough with the dirty talk!" Molly retorted. 

"I wasn't being dirty, you just took it that way." 

"You made it that way." 

Bruce sighed contentedly. "You hypocrite, Molly Hooper." 

"What? No I'm not!" 

"What about that joke with the fire-pole?" 

"I honestly don't understand the _non_ -sexual part of that joke," Rory said. 

Martha giggled. "I like snow," she said. 

"What?" 

Tony cleared his throat. "Both relevant—" 

"Oh, whatever." 

"—and pure and white like your soul." 

"Hardly. I could take you, Tony Stark." 

"Not a chance in hell." 

"Wanna bet?" 

"Sorry, not in the habit of fighting girls." 

"Hey!" Molly said. "Excuse you, we are amazing." 

"Stark's had his arse whooped one too many times by a girl, I think," Martha whispered. "He's traumatized." 

"Delusions of grandeur do not suit you, Miss, Jones." 

Martha was briefly illuminated by light as she checked her phone, lying on her back, head tipped toward the ceiling. "I would not be so quick to judge, Stark." 

"Holy crap, your face was scary for a second, there," Rory said, as the light turned off again. 

"Like... this?" She pulled a hideous grimace, phone held by her face. 

Molly laughed, and grabbed her phone. "No, more like this," she said, baring her teeth as she held her own illuminated phone close to her face. 

"Good god," Rory said, illuminating his own phone, and holding it under his chin. "And then," he said, and his voice dropped to a murmur, "the devil burst out of the deep, to be reborn in none other than..." his voice dropped even more, and they leaned closer, "two young university girls." 

"Oi!" Martha chucked a pillow at him, and Tony caught it out of the air. 

"I believe you're out of ammo," Rory said with a wicked grin. 

"Excuse me, I never said which side I was on," Tony said. 

Martha turned off her phone. "Now _that_ is scary." 

* * *

Bruce felt the bed move as Rory leaned forward. "So, Tony. As you, um, totally weren't drunk this evening—" 

"Or guerrilla gardening," Tony added. 

"—or guerrilla gardening," Rory agreed, "...what even is that?" 

"Acts of rebellious gardening in the middle of the night, not my thing." 

"Rebellious gardening?" Martha said incredulously. "So you were watering the plants with beer." 

"Expensive plant-food." Bruce smirked. 

"No, I said I _wasn't_ guerrilla gardening!" 

"Imagine if plants could get drunk," Molly mused. 

"Oh my god, are you all high? Stop changing the subject!" Rory exclaimed. "What the hell were you doing?" There was a pause. "Though, I mean, you don't have tell us if it was something private or—" 

"You remember what I mentioned this afternoon?" 

"Conspiracy theories?" 

"Hear me out. I was looking into something with Bruce's phone, and—" 

"Hey, do you still have that?" Bruce asked. 

"Oh, yeah." There was a rustling of clothes as Tony handed Bruce his phone. 

"Thanks." Bruce slipped it into his breast-pocket. 

"Did anyone see when it started to snow?" 

"We were sleeping," Molly said. 

"So were we," Rory agreed. 

"Well, I wasn't," Tony said. "Now, this is going to sound really stupid, and you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't looking for it, but when it started to snow, there was, well, green light coming from the sky." 

"What?" Martha breathed. 

"I know, it sounds like something out of a sci-fi movie, but—" 

"I believe you." 

"You do," Tony said flatly. 

"Just... go on." 

"Wait, you said you were looking for it, why were you looking for it?" Molly asked. 

"I saw something similar earlier this evening." 

"I don't suppose anyone's seen a blue police box around recently?" Martha demanded. 

"A what?" 

"I didn't think there were police boxes still around," Rory said. 

"Ok." 

"Why?" 

"No reason." 

Tony illuminated his phone, and Bruce could see him frown at the screen. "You're all laughing at me, aren't you." 

"No, I'm being serious," Martha said. 

"You're both serious about this?" Rory asked. 

"Yes," Tony said. "I swear, this isn't some stupid—you know what, never mind, it doesn't matter." 

Tony tapped his screen, and the light went out. For a moment, no one said anything. 

Bruce contemplated his breast-pocket. "What did you find in my phone?" 

Tony sighed. "A bug. You were being bugged." 

"What?" 

"If it's any consolation, I don't think it had been there for very long. It wouldn't have survived whatever beat up your phone as badly as it did." 

_Does he know?_ "So why would someone bug me?" he asked carefully. 

"I'm not sure... I tracked the return signal, but there was nothing there. Nothing except a strange green light. And there was someone watching us, earlier, a girl—" 

"Red hair," Bruce said, and he shook his head, partly in disbelief, partly to shake off the lingering worry. 

"Correct." 

"That is weird," Rory said. 

No one said anything for a moment or two. 

"And the blonde?" Martha finally asked. 

"What?" 

"The blonde, that girl you were making out with on the lawn." 

"What about her?" Tony sounded so completely nonplussed that Martha burst out laughing. 

"Oh my god," she giggled, "I thought you were doing some Bond thing, like seduction for information." 

"I don't know if anyone noticed," Tony said, "but I'm not James Bond." 

And then they were all laughing, inexplicably, uncontrollably. 

* * *

Bruce pushed his glasses further up his face, wondering why he was even still wearing them when he could hardly see a foot in front of him. 

"Anyone else just really feel like eating sugar?" Rory asked. 

Bruce chuckled. "Not a huge fan of candy." 

"Not even candy though, just pure, artificially coloured, probably even artificially sweetened sugar." 

"You have strange tastes, but each to their own, I guess." 

The bed creaked as Rory shifted forward. "Where's Tony Snark? I was expecting some comment about ingesting chemicals, or something just as know-it-all." 

"Tony?" Bruce said. "You there?" 

Beside him, Rory illuminated his phone, and held it forward. 

"Oh." 

Tony was slumped against the wall, head against his chest, eyes closed. 

"I guess it's probably late... holy crap, it's two in the morning already." 

Molly yawned. "I could fall asleep right here." 

"No worries, he did," Bruce said with a smile. 

"Night," Martha said. 

"Night," they all echoed. 

* * *

Bruce shuddered awake for what must have been the fifth time that night. The comfort of the small room was not in any way carrying over into his dreams, where he was chased by shadowy figures and a floating green light that threatened to envelop him. He sat up, and shifted back to lean against the wall. 

"Bruce?" a voice whispered. "Is that you?" 

"Uh, yeah," he murmured. "Still awake?" 

"Yeah," the voice replied, a voice he identified seconds later as Martha's. "Couldn't sleep." 

"Me neither." 

There was a long silence. 

"What do you suppose is causing the freak snowstorm?" Bruce asked. "Ridiculous cold front?" 

"Maybe." 

"Maybe? You don't think so?" 

"Well..." 

Bruce opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say. Then, Martha saved him the trouble. 

"What if it's something new? Not from around here?" 

"What do you mean?" he asked vaguely. A thought was nagging at him, that green light... Tony had described it so similarly to the visions that often accompanied his transformations. Not that he had monopoly on the colour green, it was just— 

"Bruce? Hey, Bruce." 

"Sorry." He rubbed his head. 

"You're very... introspective," Martha said. 

"I guess. What were you saying?" 

"It doesn't matter. You wouldn't... it doesn't matter." 

"I wouldn't believe you? Try me." 

"Uh... ok." He heard the sheets rustle, then a gentle thump. "So you remember when Molly said I finished school early? And I said I went travelling Europe?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Well, I... I met a guy while I was travelling. Not in the way you think," she added hastily, "We became friends. He was just... incredible, this fantastic man who had travelled all over, who knew so much. With him, everything was an adventure. We saw so many amazing things. All kinds of people." 

"The world is pretty diverse," Bruce agreed. 

Silence. Then: "What would you say if I told you we saw things... not from earth?" 

"You were serious about the aliens?" 

"Yes." 

"Not just something mutated? Human genes can be altered." 

"What?" 

"If someone was exposed to... radiation, for example..." Something moved, and he stopped. "Someone else awake?" 

"Yeah." Tony's voice. 

"Molly's still out cold," Martha added, as if trying to change the subject. 

"And so's centurion guy, I expect," Tony replied. 

"Centurion guy?" 

"You know, his Age of Empires game, he... nevermind. Here's what I want to know: How come you were so reluctant to believe my 'conspiracy theory' when I gave you straight facts, but now that I said there was a weird green light, you're talking seriously about aliens and other worlds?" 

Silence. 

"I didn't take you to be a UFO-spotter." 

"We, er, all have our hobbies," Martha said sheepishly. 

"Right," Tony said, and Bruce could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "We are quite the messed up lot, huh? Rory the outdated, Martha the alien-spotter, Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist stuck in this tiny place—" 

"Don't flatter yourself," Martha said firmly. 

Bruce shook his head. "I think Molly's quite normal, isn't she?" 

"Sort of; she's a bit of a fangirl. I think the most normal person here must be you, though," Martha laughed. "No offence." 

"None taken." _If only._ "Although," he added, "a grounding in fantasy never hurt anyone, Tony." 

"Wait, you're attacking me for not deviating from logic? I thought you were a scientist!" 

"Even I read novels now and then." 

"Who has time for that?" he replied dismissively. 

"Certainly not the person who spends half his time in poker clubs." 

Tony illuminated his phone. "I haven't been to a poker club in almost a week, actually—" 

"Suspiciously close to the number of days we've been in school, don't you think?" Martha put in, and Bruce could see her grin at him. 

"I quite agree," he said with a smile. 

"Well there's nothing good to do here!" He exclaimed, swiping at the screen of his phone with his finger. 

Beside Martha, Molly murmured something, and sat up. 

"Go back to sleep, it's only four-thirty,” Martha said. 

"What are you guys talking about?" she asked, rubbing a hand across her eyes. 

"The lack of things to do in this city," Bruce said dryly. 

"Why, what do you want to do?" Molly asked. 

"Strip poker." 

"What?" Molly demanded, crinkling her nose. "Actually?" 

Martha burst out laughing. "He's speaking for Stark, I think." 

"Well I'd at least like a decent bar," Tony grumbled, still staring at his phone. 

"There's a few bars around here, aren't there?" 

"Nothing good, nothing interesting." 

"Aren't you a minor?" Bruce asked. 

"Yeah, I forgot my fake I.D. Have to get that next time I go back." 

"Yeah, well most of us aren't all for breaking the law for a drink." 

"You know what we could do..." 

"We're not having a snowball fight," Martha said. 

"Why not?" Bruce asked. 

"Uh..." 

"Well that settles it, let's go," Tony said, walking toward the door. He aimed the light from his phone back across the room as he opened the door. "Ladies?" 

"Alright, let's do it," Martha said, slipping on her boots. She took a few steps across the room to poke Rory in the side. "Wake up. Snow." 

Rory groaned. "Sgpikbazdv?" 

"Snowwwwww.” 

"I know..." 

"We're having a snowball fight," Molly added, helping Martha drag the blankets off him. They stood there a moment as he sat up, then followed Tony and Bruce out the door. 

"Yeah, you'd better run!" Rory called as he stumbled out the door, stomping his feet into his shoes. Molly, come back to check on him, shrieked as he nearly crashed into her, then they ran down the hall, down the stairs, into the chilly night. 

Martha stepped out almost directly into a snowdrift. “It's quite deep,” she said, looking down at her knees, almost covered with snow. Molly followed more tentatively, pausing on the steps. 

“That's a lot of snow,” Rory said, staring at Martha. 

“Well it's more than we get in New York, but it's not _that_ much,” Bruce said, watching warily as Tony bent to scoop up a handful. 

“Hey, wait until we're—hey!” Molly ducked just in time to avoid a snowball to the chest. 

Rory grabbed a fist full of snow, and jumped over a tall snow pile—then twisted wildly to avoid another snowball from Martha, and landed face-first in the snow. Everyone burst out laughing. 

Rory pushed himself upright. “Alright, this is war!” 

“Good luck with that,” Tony said, already armed with three snowballs. 

“Every man for himself?” Bruce asked. 

“What, and the women stick together?” Molly added. 

“No way,” Martha said, tossing a snowball her way. Molly reached out to catch it with both hands, then gasped as it exploded against her hands, spraying her face. “If you make them soft, there's no casualties, plus they reach a larger area,” Martha said, then turned and ran as Rory reached for more snow. 

“You say that as if it's a science!” Rory shouted after her. 

Bruce, edging away, ducked around a building just as Tony threw a snowball his way, and a guy in a dark hoodie ran around the corner. 

“Hey, watch it!” the boy shouted, taking a step back. Another snowball flew at him, and he grabbed it out of the air; it melted into a spray of slush in his hand. “Better watch yourself, Bobby!” he called, flicking at a lighter in his other hand as three more boys ran into view, the first wielding several snowballs. 

“I think I'm covered,” one of them replied, pelting the first with snowballs. 

Martha, watching the exchange, felt a snowball clip her shoulder, and turned as another sailed by her head. 

Bruce grinned, holding up another handful of snow. Behind him, Rory was engaging Tony by throwing several snowballs at once. 

“Impressive!” Tony called, ducking another barrage. “—you know, that you can throw so many snowballs and not hit me _once_.” 

“Fight back!” Rory replied. “Or are you scared?” 

“ _So_ scared,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. 

“Guys?” 

Tony turned his head toward Molly, as Rory launched another few snowballs; one thudded against his chest, and bounced off. 

“Score!” Rory shouted. 

“Ow, that was ice!” Tony complained. 

“Guys, there's a bunch of people coming this way,” Molly added, ducking a snowball from one of the boys a little ways off. “Can we maybe avoid the snow war?” 

There was shouting in the distance that seemed to be getting louder. 

“I'm with you there,” Bruce said. 

“But snow!” Rory said, molding more snowballs. 

“There'll be more snow later,” Bruce replied. 

"Yeah, fuck this, it's freezing,” Tony said, walking back toward their residence. “I'm going inside." 

"This is Canada!" Rory bellowed, pelting him with three more snowballs as he disappeared into the building. 

"I'm with him," Martha said, and they all ran back inside, Rory still throwing snow even as they ran down the hall to their respective rooms. 

"Night!" Martha shouted before slamming the door just as a snowball collided with the wooden surface. 

"Don't even," Bruce said, holding up a hand as Rory launched his last snowball— 

—which Tony caught out of the air as he strolled down the hall. "Yeah, I'm a fucking boss, ok," he said, packing it back together with his hands, and throwing it at Rory, where it hit him square in the chest. 

"I was not expecting this," Rory said, but he grinned and waved at Tony before following Bruce into their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think you recognize two character cameos in this chapter, you're probably right. I guess then this marks the addition of X-men to the roster! But to be clear, this series is still primarily whoavengelock; if you haven't seen or read X-men, don't leave now! The main focus will be on the WAL characters.
> 
> (though for those who've seen the movies, the whole movie!deadpool thing? never happened nope)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food and tinkering and drinks and food and ok mostly food shenanigans. Why, Tony, look at these friends you're making, isn't it fabulous? ....Stop your complaining, you can work on your robots later.

The snow was slowly melting—slowly, but not slowly enough. 

Tony rolled onto his back, and pushed a few gears out of the way to grab his phone. "How's the snow doing, Jarvis?" 

"Happily continuing its doomed existence, sir. The rate of melting remains consistently faster than normal." 

Tony rubbed at his chin. "But that's bullshit. Are you sure? I didn't spend as long on your temperature detection functions..." 

"Pardon me, sir, but my systems are 98.95% accurate." 

Tony chuckled. "That's my boy. Well, in that case, I'm gonna need some help here, Jarvis, because physics is broken." 

"Shall I start by helping you clean up, sir?" 

"Not unless you can do something about my clothes," he replied, glancing at the dripping heap hanging off the edge of his desk. He'd spent the last few hours in his boxers while his snow-sodden clothes dried, partly because he didn't want to set them on fire with another failed attempt at _science_ , and partly because his latest gauntlet prototype was sitting on his suitcase full of clean clothes, and he really didn't want it to fall apart again. 

"I was referring to your room, but I can see that's a lost cause." 

"Wow, now you're trying to be my parent? I might have to take the snark down a level next update." 

"Of course, sir. Anything else?" 

"Yeah. Found any matches to this... weather aberration thing?" 

"Search still in progress, but no correlation found so far." 

"Alright, well, keep looking." Tony glanced back at the partially-completed gauntlet. "I've got nothing to do with _you_ until I can get some welding done on that baseplate... Jarvis, what's the shop class schedule look like today?" 

"There are no more classes in the workshop until 6 o'clock." 

"Perfect." He made to grab the gauntlet, and stopped. "God dammit, how am I supposed to transport this?" He looked around the room, and his eyes lit on his drying clothes. "Well, not like those were getting any drier anyway..." He reached over and grabbed the sleeve of the soggy shirt in one hand, and a pocket knife in the other, nicked the edge of the material, then tore the sleeve right off. "There's the support," he muttered, twisting it tightly so it fit inside the hollow gauntlet. He took the rest of the shirt, and wrapped it around the outside of the structure. "And there's the padding." 

He picked it up, and felt something shift. "Well, there go the fingers." He shrugged, and placed the lump carefully in the bottom of his empty backpack. "I can always reassemble it..." 

"Sir, scan is complete; no weather aberrations found matching the same qualities as this one." 

"Well, keep looking, I guess, I'm off to the workshop," he said, hoisting his bag onto his shoulders. 

"What parameters would you like to set to the continuation of the search?" 

"I dunno, try the states, search some blogs, hack some people, damn I could go for a coffee right now, maybe a BLT and a donut..." 

"Sir?" 

"Be creative!" 

* * *

Tony's phone buzzed; he leaned against the wall as he juggled coffee and phone. "Hello?" 

"Where are you?" 

"Tim Horton's, getting lunch. What's up?" 

"Interesting, because that's where we just were." 

"I guess I'm at the other one." 

"The one that's closed for renovation, or the one that's a few kilometres outside the city?" There was a thump in the background, and the sound crackled. 

"Aren't there more? And am I on speaker phone?" Tony demanded. 

"Yes," a chorus of voices responded. 

"Yes to which? Because there is a suspicious lack of Tim Horton's available as alibis. This being a Canadian city and all." He leaned over the metal tabletop in front of him to tighten the screw on the outer shell of a metal finger. 

"You're late," Martha put in. 

“So that’s yes I’m on speaker-phone, _and_ yes there are more Tim Hortons. You were bluffing, I thought so.” 

"Tony." 

"Right, yeah, lunch. I'll be right over." 

"Tony, it's five o'clock, we're about ready for supper." 

"It is?" He took the phone from his ear and checked the time. Sure enough, 17:04. He put the phone back up to his ear. Tony contemplated the screwdriver in his hand. "Doesn't anyone have classes?" he asked. 

"Yes, and went to them while you weren't around. Are you joining us at any point today or not?" 

"Yeah, I guess, let me just finish up here," he said, holding the phone with his shoulder so he could hold the gauntlet in place while he pressed a small soldering iron against the plastic coating on a stray wire. "This place has some crazy tools, by the way." 

"Like you?" Rory said. 

"Wow, that was totally uncalled for." 

"You could just get your ass over here and stop complaining," he retorted. There was a muffled comment at the other end. "Shut up, I'm totally macho. Anyway," Rory said, "meet us at Go Sushi, this time. It's, uh, just across the street from the science building." 

"Alright, I'll be done in ten." _Or twenty. Or an hour. Dammit, in an hour and a half I could be done here—_

"That's ten minutes, not half an hour, not an hour," Martha added. 

"Close, but I was thinking an hour and a half. How do you do the mind-reading thing? Is that a female talent?" 

"Rory could have guessed what you were thinking," Molly said. 

"Hey, hey!" 

He heard Molly make shushing sounds. 

"Alright, ten minutes then. Although it's already been five minutes listening to you all squabble—" 

"Look who's talking." 

"—so I'll be a bit later than originally planned." 

"Ten minutes," Martha repeated, then hung up. 

"Fine," he grumbled, setting down the soldering iron. "But only under protest of separation from a beautifully empty workshop." 

There was no reply other than the fuzzing of the empty line. * 

* * *

They walked under the luminescent red sign for Go Sushi, Rory and Molly talking animatedly about what sounded like a historical fiction novel. Bruce, a few steps ahead, held the door for them, and waited as Martha caught up. 

"Is Tony actually on his way, then?" she asked. 

Bruce shrugged. "I think so?" he said, looking at the texts on his phone. "He said he was leaving about half an hour ago—" 

"So he might have left by now?" Martha said with a wry smile. 

"He'll come." 

They stopped in the entrance. "Four?" a waitress asked, grabbing a handful of menus. 

"Five," Molly said. 

"Uh, no—six, actually," Rory said. "Six," he repeated to the waitress, who nodded, and beckoned. "Clint texted me back, I forgot." 

"Ok, cool." 

They followed the waitress to a table flanked by two chairs one one side, and a long expanse of cushioned seat on the other. "I will get more chairs," she promised, dropping the menus on the table and walking away. 

They sat down, two on each side. 

"So what is this place?" Molly asked. 

"...A sushi restaurant," Rory said, swallowing a grin. 

"I know that! I mean, what kind of restaurant?" 

"I believe it serves food," Bruce added. 

"Bruce, not you too!" Martha flicked open a menu. "Don't be pricks, both of you, there are no prices on these menus, it could be confusing." 

"It's kind of like a buffet where they bring the buffet to you," Bruce explained. 

"So it's all you can eat?" Molly asked, as the waitress came back, carrying two chairs, which she set at each end of the table before walking away. 

"That _is_ how buffets generally work," Rory whispered. 

Molly glared at him. 

Moments later, the waitress came back, bearing a tray of waters. "Would you like to order?" she asked, setting the glasses down. 

"Uh, not yet," Bruce said, "we're still waiting for two people." 

"I hope they get here soon," Molly said, peering over Martha's shoulder at the menu as the waitress walked away, "I'm so hungry, I think I could polish off at least a dozen sushi rolls right now." 

Rory opened a menu. "So, uh, what is there to order here? Do they have other stuff than rice and that?" 

Martha raised an eyebrow. "Have you never had sushi before?" 

"It wasn't exactly a big thing where I lived! Miss travel-a-lot..." 

Molly shrugged. "We had a huge cultural food plaza right by our high school, actually. There was a sushi place, a Mandarin, a Greek place... I think there might have been an Italian restaurant, too—Olive Garden?" 

Martha gave her a look. "I don't think that's _actually_ an Italian restaurant." 

"Whatever!" 

"Hey, ladies, gents." 

Bruce glanced up as Clint strolled up to them. "This seat taken?" he asked Molly. 

"Nope," she said, waving a hand at him, smiling. "Sit down already." 

"Thanks," he said, swinging the chair around backward before straddling it, arms folded over the back. "What's up? Whaddya guys think of this place?" 

"I dunno, we haven't ordered yet," Rory said. 

"Oh," Clint laughed, "I meant, Parma, what do you think of the school?" 

"It's nice," Molly said. "The teachers are great." 

"And the classes?" 

"Meh, they're ok," Martha said, grinning. 

"Anyone been to a science lab yet?" Bruce asked. 

"Like, the room, or the class?" 

"The class. Or the room? I have almost all my labs at the end of the week, I just wanted to know what the practical stuff was like." 

Martha and Rory shook their heads; Molly nodded. "They're good—" 

"Hang on, you're all in science?" Clint demanded. 

"Yup," Rory said, glancing around. "I'm in nursing," he said, his face straight. He didn't exactly glare at Clint, but Bruce knew from his face he was thinking something along the lines of _'tell me nursing is a girls' job, I dare you'_. 

He was amused to see Clint look away first. 

"Well, I'm training to be a doctor," Martha said. "Apparently we're working really hard to subvert traditional gender roles, here." 

"That's cool," Clint said, "I've always aspired to the damsel-in-distress role myself. Minimal effort, and a ton of benefits," he said with a wink, and they laughed. 

"And you're in...?" Molly asked. 

"Health sciences," he said. "I do archery and martial arts." 

"What, no fencing?" came a voice, and Bruce glanced at Martha as Tony Stark strode over to the opposite end of the table. _Told you he'd come._ "Come on, starting the party without me? Not cool." 

"Yeah, well, you're late," Rory said, grinning. 

"I got here exactly when I meant to! And Clint, no need to seduce anyone here, the night's still young." 

Clint glanced down at his splayed legs, and laughed. "I've just got the hots for this sushi stuff." 

"Point taken, it's some damn good food. Have we ordered yet?" he asked, sitting down. 

"Nope," Rory said. "Any suggestions?" 

"Yeah: everything. Especially the battered and greasy stuff. But everything." 

"Battered... sushi?" Martha asked. 

"Popular with the foreigners," he replied. "Tourist culture thing, and damn delicious." 

"I'm all for anything that's delicious," Clint said, grabbing a menu. "Where's our server person at?" 

"I think..." Molly turned in her seat, "over there," she said, nodding at a girl distributing water at another table. 

"Excuse me," Tony said loudly, and the waitress glanced their way and nodded. 

She came back a few moments later. "Are you ready to order?" 

"Yeah," Tony said, "can we get like three dishes of assorted rolls, a couple of pad thai's, and some tempura." Tony glanced down at his unopened menu for a moment. "Anything else you'd recommend?" he asked the waitress. 

"Mmm... the sesame chicken is very good," she said, with a half smile. 

"And a sesame chicken, then." 

"Well, I recognized the word chicken in all that," Rory said, watching the waitress scribble on a pad of paper. 

"Two sesame chicken," Tony said, grinning. 

"Actually, that sounds good," Bruce said, "can we get another?" 

"Three sesame chicken," Tony said, "Any other takers?" 

"Just some crab rolls, please," Martha said. 

"And some edamame," Molly added. "Anyway, Rory, the chopsticks make it pretty easy to share dishes, so you can just nick stuff off us until you decide you want something else." 

Clint laughed. "Nick stuff." 

"Chopsticks?" Rory looked dubiously at the thin paper package by his drink. 

"You'll be a pro at chopsticks by the time we're done here," Tony promised. 

The waitress cleared her throat. "What would you like to drink?" 

"I'll have a sprite," Clint said. 

"Coke, please," Rory said. 

"Mm, yeah, I'll get a coke as well," Tony said. 

"I'm good," Molly said, and Martha and Bruce nodded. 

The waitress nodded, and finished writing in her notepad before walking away. They sat in silence for a few moments, staring at the table, the walls. Tony, of course, was on his phone again. 

Oh, right, phone. 

"Hey, Tony, by the way," Bruce said, reaching into his pocket, "my phone's been having trouble turning on recently, but the battery's fine, would you mind..?" 

"Post-bug, recently?" Tony asked, holding out his hand. 

Bruce passed it to him. "Uh, yeah." 

Tony flipped it open. 

At that moment, the waitress returned, bearing three more drinks. "Two cokes," she said setting one down in front of Rory, then Tony, who didn't look up. "And sprite," she added, placing the last glass in front of Clint. 

"Thanks." 

"I will be back with food." 

Meanwhile, Tony had taken apart the outer casing of the phone, and was prodding the insides with a pair of tiny red-handled tweezers. "Do you think, uh, _it_ could have damaged my phone?" Bruce asked. 

Tony shrugged dismissively. "I doubt it, that bug was a piece of shit. It's probably just because you mistreat your phone," he smirked. Bruce frowned at him. 

"Wait, bug? Like, James Bond superspy, bug?" Clint demanded. 

"Not at all," Tony said, "I'd expect James Bond to do a better job. Ever seen a bug before?" 

"In movies, sure." 

"Well, this was just about useless, not even worth cannibalizing." 

"And _your_ phone was bugged?" Clint looked at Bruce. "What'd you do, rob a bank? Mug the president?" 

"No, I'm sure the president just felt threatened by my obscene student-skills," Bruce said dryly, and they laughed. He glanced over at Tony, who was just screwing the outer plate back onto his phone. 

"Here," he said, putting the screwdriver away, and handing Bruce his phone, "there was just a broken connection on the circuit board, a metal track came up, no biggy." 

"Thanks." Bruce returned the phone to his pocket as their waitress returned bearing two large trays of food. 

"That's a hell of an assortment," Clint said, watching him set one down. 

"Assorted rolls," she said, deadpan, shifting three plates down the table. 

Bruce took a closer look at some of the rolls. "What's that?" he asked no one in particular as the waitress finished unloading the trays. 

"Green and orange, or the one with the tail?" Martha asked, grinning. 

"Hah. I didn't think the tail was from a strawberry roll. But what's the green?" 

"Avocado, I think. Though I'm not sure why it's orange. Try it!" 

Martha had already pulled out her chopsticks, and grabbed a crab roll. Bruce pulled his own out of their paper packaging, and broke them apart. "Paprika, maybe?" he said, lifting it toward him. He took a bite. 

"Well?" 

He shrugged, chewing. "It tastes like... avocado. No idea." He finished the roll, watching the others. 

"Ooh, Tempura!" Molly said, pulling the basket toward her. "So freaking good." 

Tony stood up and reached across the table to snag a piece with his own chopsticks. "Wait, these are vegetables. Where's my deep-fried shrimp?" 

"...He says, finishing it in seconds," Martha said, watching it disappear into his mouth. 

"I didn't say it wasn't good..." 

"Shrimp's probably on its way." 

Rory reached for a roll with his hand, and Clint tapped him on the knuckles with his chopsticks. "Hey, dude, use your chopsticks." 

Meanwhile, their waitress came back with two smaller plates, which she identified as pad thai. Tony grabbed both, then relented when Clint stole one back. 

"I want silverware," Rory said, staring down at the chopsticks. 

"Try it," Bruce said, holding up his own chopsticks. "Look." 

Rory glanced at Bruce's hand, then tried to imitate the position. 

Tony laughed. "You look like you're using scissors, Williams. ...Oh god no, that just sounds pretentious—" 

"As usual, then?" 

"—yes, hah, not, shut up, Barton. Why does it work for Clint but not for Rory?" 

"I have a kickass last name?" 

"True, but shut up anyway. What the hell is that?" He pointed at a heap of green pods. 

"Edamame," Martha said. 

"Wow, not even Anglicized." 

Clint picked one up. "Aww, veg, good job, way to stay true to yourself." 

"Did you just compliment a vegetable?" Bruce asked. 

"Yeah, I think so." 

"Ok." 

Rory watched as Molly peeled a piece of edamame apart. "You don't eat the skin?" 

"Well you _can_ , " she said, glancing at it dubiously, "but..." 

"Ok." He managed to pick a pod up on his second try, and held it up. "Looks pretty edible to me," he said, and bit it in half. 

"Any good?" Martha asked. 

He chewed slowly. "Hmmm." He made a face. 

"That's what I thought," Molly said, and laughed as he swallowed quickly. 

"A little bitter," he said, laughing with her. 

"And, like, chewy and gross," she added. 

"Shhhhh." 

* * *

Half an hour later, they were scraping multicoloured ice cream meltoff out of small wooden bowls. Rory was still playing with his chopsticks, while Bruce was try to pick up his bowl with his own chopsticks. 

"That's not gonna work, man," Tony said, absently watching Bruce's half-hearted efforts. "If you grabbed it by the lip—" 

"Don't be a downer, he can do it," Molly said, while behind her, Clint puckered his lips at Tony, who smirked. 

"Thanks for the encouragement," Bruce said, letting the bowl fall back to the table. 

"How much is this delicious feast gonna cost, by the way?" Clint asked. 

"I think it's about twenty bucks each" Tony said, looking up. 

"Oh, that's not that bad." 

"Is it?" Molly asked. "I can never tell." 

"That's right," Clint said, "y'all are Brits, I'd just gotten used to all the different people here. How do you even function?" 

"Debit," she replied. "But Canadian money is worth, like, half of ours, right?" 

"Got me," Clint said, shrugging. "It's all I can do to keep track of Canadian to American." 

"61 pence, right now," Tony muttered, staring at his phone, but no one paid him any attention. 

"Wait, you're Canadian, right?" Molly asked Clint. 

"What?" He burst out laughing. "You're serious?" 

"You can't tell the difference?" Tony demanded, grinning. 

She shook her head. 

"All sounds the same to me," Rory added. 

Martha nodded. "I mean, unless they're from California, or Texas, or something..." 

"Well, to be clear," Bruce said, "we're all either American or English, here." 

"I can tell who's English," Molly retorted. 

"Doesn't Britain have, like, more accents than all of America?" 

"I doubt England does, but Britain might, considering it includes Wales, Scotland, and Ireland," Rory said. 

"If by Britain you mean Great Britain," Molly said, "GB's just with _Northern_ Ireland, right?" 

"I thought Great Britain was the island, and the UK was the whole thing," Martha said. 

"Good god," Clint said, "if you don't know, how do you expect us to?" 

"I never took Geography," Molly said, shrugging. "I mean, not much. I opted out as soon as possible." 

"Same," Rory said. "History's more interesting when it's actually history." 

"By which you mean a few thousand years old, and located in southern Europe," Tony said. "Martha said you were taking Latin, are you actually taking Latin? You realize that's a dead language, right?" 

"It's interesting," Rory mumbled. 

"How do you fit in all these classics courses?" Molly asked. 

He shrugged. "I'm taking a few extra courses this year, while I don't have so much to do." 

"...Doesn't nursing leave no room for electives?" 

He grinned. "Nope. I mean, yes. I mean—" 

"He's taking Latin and Mediterranean history on top of a full course load," Bruce interjected. 

"Um... yup, I think that's pretty much exactly what I'm doing." 

Tony leaned forward. "Did I miss something? Are you secretly a genius? Are you a superspy?" 

"Me? A superspy? Come on, let's be serious. If anyone's a superspy, it'd be you, Mr. secret industry-man from the states. Or Clint, cause I mean, no offence, man, but you could be an axe-murderer for all we know." 

"None taken, I would make the best axe-murderer, just saying," Clint boasted. 

Tony held up a hand. "Ok, first, axe-murderers are not stylish at all, don't go that path. Second, and I quote, 'Mr. secret industry-man'? You have such a way with words, I'm astounded." 

"'Axe-murderers are not stylish at all'?" Rory shot back at him. 

"You wanna go?" 

"Yeah, let's go," Rory said, thumping the table as he stood up, grinning. "Right now." 

"All right, let's do this," Tony said, standing up. 

"Yeah, and I'll take you both," Martha said, "sit down, for god's sake. Weren't we gonna pay for this at some point?" 

"Maybe," Rory said. "Sure no one wants to try the whole James Bond-abscond thing—ok, ok, I was joking," he said hastily, as Bruce idly picked up a pair of chopsticks. 

"Are you... afraid of chopsticks?" Molly asked. 

"You've never seen Bruce with a pair of chopsticks." 

"I'm sure his prowess is considerable, considering how he lifted a bowl _single-handed_ ," Tony said. "Is there something you need to tell us about the nature of your relationship?" 

"What has that got to do with—" Rory stopped, and glared at him. "Screw you." 

"I think I shan't, considering you just implied you're more or less taken." 

"Martha..." 

"Why are you appealing to me?" 

"You seemed to have some sort of magical control over him?" 

She laughed. "Not in the slightest. Bruce?" 

He shrugged. "Tony's a free agent." 

"Dammit, Bruce, help me out here." 

"I'm not his... keeper, is that how the phrase goes?" 

"Tony'd totally be Slytherin," Molly said. 

"What?" Bruce glanced at Molly. "Where'd that come from?" 

"Keeper, you know, Quidditch?" Martha said, grinning. "I dunno, he's not actually _evil_ , just manipulative. He could be a Ravenclaw." 

"Not all Slytherins are evil!" she protested. 

" _Why are we having this conversation right now what the actual hell_." 

Everyone looked at Rory. 

"You don't read Harry Potter?" Martha asked. 

"No. Seriously, I think you two must be the only ones." 

"I have," Clint volunteered. 

"Of _course_ you have." 

"I don't suppose you've read Discworld?" Bruce asked. 

"No, what?" 

"Just a thought." 

"You're right, Martha, it's definitely time to go," Tony said, standing up. 

"Oh no, talking about _novels_? What a tragedy." 

"I think I'm having deja vu," Bruce said. "Oh, wait, no, that was just another conversation where Tony professed a disinterest in books." 

"We need to have story time," Martha said. 

"Oh _god_ no," Tony said. 

"Oh _god yes_ ," Rory said, grinning. 

* * *

They paid, and left; Bruce laughed when Clint started a chain-reaction of waved goodbyes to their waitress, accompanied by assurances they'd be back soon. Clint then excused himself and left in another direction to finish some project or other, and then it was just the five of them again, walking back in the dimming light. 

"I think I'm going to explode," Molly said. 

"Did you give much thought to this, or was it a spur of the moment decision?" Tony asked. "Can't it wait until we get somewhere a bit more private?" 

She swatted at him half-heartedly. "I'm super-full." 

"Same," Martha said. "But I didn't eat half as much as you did." 

"Oh, shut up, it was delicious." 

"I could probably do with a snack, later," Rory said. 

"Seriously?" Martha said. 

"We could order in pizza," Tony said. 

"Chicken wings would be delicious," Bruce added. 

"How are you still hungry?" Molly demanded. 

"It was a joke," Rory replied. "Hahah?" 

"Mm, no, chicken wings sound pretty good," Tony said, glancing at Bruce. 

"Let's do it." 

" _Boys_ ," Martha said. 

" _Girls_ , " Rory said. 

"Yeah, yeah, and everyone else," Tony said. "Do you guys feel raindrops?" 

"No?" Martha looked up, then blinked. "Yes, that was my eye," she said, wiping the droplet away. 

"Those clouds look very friendly," Molly said, pointing at the grey sky. 

"Uh, guys," Bruce said, "we might want to do the running thing." 

"What?" 

It was a few blocks away, but there was a _wall_ of water coming toward them, rain coming down in a sheet. 

"Holy fuck," Tony exclaimed, and they were already running back toward campus. 

They only made it to the parking lot when the rain hit them. 

"This is insane!" Molly shrieked, arms over her head. 

"I thought it rained all the time in England!" Tony called back. 

"Not like this!" Rory shouted, and they ran even faster, splashing around growing puddles until they finally ran up the steps and flung themselves through the double doors of the Doyle residence building. 

They stood there for a moment, panting, dripping on the concrete floor. 

"That. Was. Ridiculous." Rory pulled at his shirt, trying to wring it out. 

Tony pulled off a shoe and turned it upside down, watching the muddy water splash onto the floor. "Well _those_ are ruined." 

" _Please,_ your shoes will survive," Molly said, squeezing water from her hair. 

"Oh, and how did miss 'I love it when it's raining' enjoy _that_?" Tony demanded. 

"Yeah, I _love_ it when the air is _made of water_." 

Bruce looked outside. "Well, it's stopped now." 

"Seriously?" Rory pressed his face against the window, and sighed. "I want a shower." He walked away from the window, and started up the stairs. 

"Ugh, same," Molly said, following. 

"Steamy," Bruce said under his breath. 

"Oh my god," Martha said, laughing. 

"What?" Molly glanced behind her. 

Tony grinned. "Just discussing y—" 

"Nothing!" Martha interrupted. 

"Nothing? Well _that's_ boring," Rory said. 

"Not really," Tony said, raising an eyebrow at Bruce, who smirked. 

They reached the top of the stairs, and walked into the hallway, where Martha and Molly split off to their room. 

"So, you guys down for chicken wings?" Tony asked, as they walked down the hall. 

"Eh, I'm not actually that hungry, really," Bruce said. "To be honest, I might just read for the rest of tonight, if that's ok." 

"Uh, yeah, sure." 

"Oh, crap, right, reading! How serious do you think first-week readings are? Cause I think Xavier was being pretty damn serious about this psych reading for tomorrow." 

Bruce watched Tony walk past them down the hall. "You have _all night _, why don't you just, you know, read it?" he said, waiting for Rory to open the door. "Night, Tony," he called.__

"Night." 

Rory opened the door. "Well, I wanted to get ahead on some classics stuff because it is _insanely_ complicated, and, ok, maybe finish some Age of Empires campaigns," he said, "but I guess that can wait." 

"Probably a good idea." 

* * *

Tony exchanged his wet clothes for the now dry clothes he had worn the day before. "Hey, Jarvis," he said, pulling the shirt over his head, "did you pick up anything else on the weather search since I checked in at dinner?" 

"No, sir, still no coverage on any media outlets." 

Tony rubbed his wet hair with the pair of dry pants. "Come on, Jarvis, don't you think 'sir' is a little, I dunno, stuffy?" 

"You _are_ the CEO of a successful multi-million dollar corporation." 

"True say. I guess I'm allowed a little class," he said, pulling on his pants. "Seriously, though, how is there no coverage? Like, what are the weather channels saying, that it was all clear skies and sun over here?" 

"Overcast evening and night, but yes, essentially." 

"That's one serious media-wipe." He sat down in the chair by his desk, put his head in his hands. "So what now? All I have is a school that likes overseas students, and a little summer snow—I suppose the rain was just a normal thing." 

"It is unusual at this time of year, but not unheard of." 

"Right. Oh, and the bug. But really, Banner could have attracted any number of _interested parties_ , even willing to track him across the border, it's probably not even related..." He tapped his fingers on his head, then slid off the chair to the floor, and picked up what he was pretty sure was a toaster handle. He contemplated it for a moment, then tossed it over his shoulder. "Nope, _not_ feeling it right now. Man, I could use a drink." 

"There are three bottles of Budweiser remaining—" 

"Ugh, no, those were meant as a last resort, I am _not_ drinking that shit right now. You know what," he said, standing up, "I'm gonna go _out_ for a drink, check out that bar I saw a couple days ago." 

"That sounds like a well thought out plan. Will you be needing anything else?" 

He grabbed the jacket hanging on his bed post. "Nah, take a break, Jarvis, I'll be back in a few hours." 

"I await your return with great anticipation." 

"Very funny. You know what, I actually dig the sarcasm, not bad for a disembodied voice." 

"Thank you, sir." 

"...Still not feeling the 'sir', though." 

"Sorry, sir." 

* * *

The lights seemed bright in the bar—compared to the complete lack of light outside, anyway—and Tony paused in the doorway as his eyes adjusted, moving aside to let some guy in a suit leave. It was larger than he expected, almost a criminal affair, full of fancy-looking faux-glass lights and wooden barrels, and god damn was that a wall-to-wall mirror what were these people thinking that's gonna be broken in less than a week. 

_The Fox's Tail._ It wasn't exactly his "thing". But it was late and he was thirsty, and maybe it had some decent booze. 

He slid onto a bar stool by a pillar, glancing over to see a girl a few feet away—nice legs—waiting for the bartender, who was occupied by a group near the other end. 

"Leaving so soon?" She turned, and he gestured to the seat beside him. "Night's still young." 

"And ripe for cliché," she said, smiling. "But I've already been here for a while, just got to pay my bill." She waved a small piece of paper. 

Tony nodded knowingly. "That bad, huh? Maybe I'll find someplace else." 

"No, really, it was great, but—" 

"Got any recommendations? You could show me around, I'm sure we could find something. On me." 

She giggled. "Thanks for the offer, but I should be getting back, I've been out all evening, and I'm _so_ tired." 

"Party hard! You come here with a group?" 

"Only way to do it!" 

"Oh, for sure." 

"Where's _your_ group, then?" she asked, leaning against the bar. 

"Night in, you know." 

"Oh, that's too bad." She glanced over at the end of the bar, which was now empty. "Hey, there we go," she said, "one moment." 

Tony watched her go, turning his glass idly in his fingers. She paid the bartender, engaging him with a warm smile and a comment that made him laugh. Then, she was on her way back, replacing her wallet as she walked. 

"I'm Tony, by the way," he said as she reached him. "Tony Stark." 

"It was nice meeting you," she said, holding out her hand to shake. 

"This is the bit where you tell me _your_ name," he added, and she lowered her hand. "Come on, did we really hit it off so bad that you won't even tell me your name?" 

She laughed. "Sorry, I'm Natalie." 

He raised his eyebrows slightly. 

"Rushman," she added. 

"Nice to meet you, Natalie," he said, holding out his hand, which she shook. 

"Guess I'll see you around, Tony," she said, and he watched her leave, her red hair swaying as she walked. What a beauty. 

He turned back to the bar—"Yeah, martini please"—watched the bartender carry the glass over, took a few sips. 

_Ok, that killed about five minutes..._ He pulled out his phone, pulled up Google. _Natalie Rushman._ Maybe add her on Facebook or something. 

A minute or so later, he gave up. There _were_ a couple of Facebook accounts under the name of Natalie Rushman, but they either definitely not her, or small blurry pictures that were hard to make out. He went back to google. _Maybe Twitter, or..._

LinkedIn. Ok, sure, though not what he was expecting. 

The page came up, and he stared at a picture of her, staring passively at the camera. Worked as a secretary; _I could definitely use one of those,_ he thought with a rueful smile. But as he skimmed down past her many qualifications—she spoke French, German, Russian, Mandarin, _Latin,_ who speaks Latin anyway—he began to have the feeling he'd seen her somewhere before. 

He navigated back to google, google images, found another picture of her that traced back to some image hosting site. Stared at her pale face. Short red hair. Of course: the girl at Tim Hortons, the girl he thought _might_ have been spying on them, the girl who, oh my god, was almost definitely a fucking spy, she'd just come waltzing in pretending to be somebody else and he _fell for it._

_Guess I'll see you around_ , she'd said. Yeah, he'd see her around. _How about right now, is that a good fucking time for you?_ He stood up abruptly, knocking into someone behind him. 

"Tony?" He kept walking. "Hey, Tony!" Someone caught up with him. He sighed, and looked up. 

"Clint, hi, bye, got to go—" 

"What's the rush?" 

"No _rush_ , I've just got shit to do." 

"Come on, it's only 9 o'clock, stay for a bit!" 

"I _did_ stay for a bit, and now I'm _leaving_." 

"Stay a bit _longer_ , then, smartass." 

Tony didn't say anything, but pushed through the doors to outside. 

"Hey... Tony, wait up." Clint hurried after him, grabbed him by the arm. 

"Let _go of me_ ," he snarled, shoving Clint back, not breaking in stride as he walked faster across the parking lot. 

"Well, enjoy storming off to do your mysterious shit," Clint called after him, undeterred. "Give me a shout if you need a wingman for shots or anything, cause my night is empty as hell!" 

"Fuck you, Clint Barton, I'm not leaving one bar to go to another one," he called back over his shoulder. 

"Alright, enjoy the casino, then!" 

He turned around—god it was dark out—"Not the casino either, you dick!" 

"Easy on the insults, it was a good guess!" 

"I'm not—" he started, then he stepped on a loose rock that rolled beneath him, and he threw his arms out to keep his balance. Wow it really _was_ dark out, when did it get so hard to see anything? 

"Sorry? Didn't catch that," Clint yelled. "Might be because you're so damn far away, but I could be wrong." 

"Just shut up!" Tony reached for his phone, then pulled his hand away as he realized that, oh yeah, looking at the bright screen would just make it _harder_ to see. Note to self: night-vision shades. 

"So... are you leaving or what?" 

Tony looked half-heartedly around at the street lamps illuminating patches of street. _Yeah, I know exactly where I am. Absolutely. I could find anything in this piss-poor layout of a city. Especially random gingers I've seen exactly twice. Yup._

"Look, if you must know, I was gonna have a cigarette," he said, walking a little closer. "But it turns out I don't even have a single fucking one on me." 

"Hey, that's cool, you should've just said so. Need change? There's probably a corner store around here somewhere." 

"Maybe later," he said casually, "right now I mostly just need a drink." 

"Hey, I know a guy who can hook you up." 

"Does he happen to look a lot like you?" 

"Yeah, almost _exactly_ like me, actually, how'd you know?" 

"Intuition." 

As they re-entered the bar, Clint didn't say anything about how _virtually_ impossible it would be to keep a smoking habit secret in the face of Tony's very public life, so Tony didn't clearing up the discrepancy in his story. _Don't fix what's already working._ Besides, trying to chase down some random girl in the middle of the night was possibly one of his worst ideas _ever_. Which was saying something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tony no not night vision shades then you'll just be that prick who wears sunglasses at dumb times like inside and at night
> 
> Bonus line in the style of Terry Pratchett:
> 
> * To no one's surprise but his—him being the only one in the room and all, and therefore there being no one else present to BE surprised, unless you counted Jarvis, but he wasn't really a person, and also never surprised, damn his multi-purpose downloadable non-physical AI entity—there was no reply other than the fuzzing of the empty line.
> 
> (hey guys this is now officially my longest work :D)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yeah, sorry, i got bored with this, never coming back to it. so if anyone still cared about it, here's the notes i had for finishing this chapter.

Tony wakes up late because was drinking and stuff. Sort of wanders room aimlessly, tinkering, trying to get Jarvis to find something, looks up Natalie Rushman, and very short internet CV on linkedin but not much else, no FB or twitter or other social media. Eventually leaves to get food, decides to grab a cheeseburger from MacDonald's across the street

 

"Hey, Tony."

Tony jumped violently. "Holy fuck, was that necessary?" he complained, turning as Sue Storm materialized next to him.

"Sorry, left my civilian clothes in my room, didn't want to draw attention to myself." She smiled sweetly. 

"Yeah, ok Sue, what's up? I'd say you'd finally succumbed to my charm and dashing looks, but you've been pretty clear about how unlikely  _that_  is to happen."

"Heard that you were here. Reed hasn't left his room in days, so I thought there was something you might want to know."

"Well, your  _boyfriend's_  hygiene habits aside—"

"Ororo Munroe was called to the Principal's office yesterday."

"Who what?"

She gave him a look. "Mutant, she can control the weather."

"There are mutants here? Seriously?"

"You might want to get up to date on some of the students here," she said, and turned invisible.

"Hang on a... where are you? Goddammit you're impossible. So you're saying  _she_  made it snow?"

"No. At least, Reed doesn't think so. He said the snow had strange properties, something to do with its molecular structure?"

"Is that why he's being a stretchy hermit crab."

"And I couldn't move it with my force fields."

"Right. So physics-denying snow, and some girl gets in trouble—" He stopped. "You think he knows she's a mutant. Actually, how  _did_  you know she was a mutant? We haven't had a superpower registry set up since I last checked, have we?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm Invisible Woman, I see things."

"What happened to Invisible  _Girl_?"

"Stops people from asking if I'm a pre-teen.  _Focus,_  Tony!"

"Sorry,  _what_  out of all this am I supposed to be focusing on?"

"Look," she said, materializing again, "Reed can science things until the cows come home, but if this is some alien snow dropped out of the sky, he's not going to be doing much about it."

"Sue, I spent most of today trying to figure out what was up with the snow, and I got nothing to show for it. What exactly do you want me to  _do_  about it?"

She shrugged. "Your choice," she said, turning invisible again. "But whatever you do, do it soon, because I've been following other things happening around here, and there's some weird people around."

* * *

During the blackout, Tony was reviewing the data Jarvis gathered, connecting incidents around Bruce's transformation. Finds images of the incident with Tash somehow implicated, near the scene when it happened. Doesn't prove anything, but raises suspicion. Jarvis searches her face, finds "Natalie Rushman". After sees her watching them again, finally catches her, last day, talk to her:

"Natalie! Hey! How's it going?"

She watched him impassively as he approached, and flung his arm around her shoulders. 

"If that's even your real name," he murmured into her ear, a broad grin plastered onto his face. "How about we have a talk, you and me?"

when he figures out a lot of things, she buzzes Clint to tell Fury to prepare for Tony.

"Clint? Are you serious... You're planting your guys into my group?"  
"Pardon?"  
"Don't play games with me, you know exactly what I'm talking about," he snapped. "I can't believe this."

...

"This way."

As the door closed behind him, she pressed the comm unit on her ear. "Barton, I want a word. Now."

* * *

So Fury wants to establish pecking order, he's like "you know things; I want you to sign confidentiality forms as well as one to work for us. We could use your technical expertise."

Tony's like "lolno I don't answer to you."

"You realize we could kick you out of this school."

"No you can't, not on the grounds that I've discovered you're actually an organization of secret super-spies. It's a little illegal to cover your secret services as a  _school._  And before you come up with some elaborate cover story for my expulsion, I'd like to remind you that I'm Tony Stark, and the whole world would be hearing about your operation before you'd even printed a phoney declaring my expulsion. So  _don't even try,_ " he snapped, turning to go.

"This is a dangerous game you're playing, Stark. You have no idea what SHIELD is capable of."

"I've seen the enrolment lists,  _Director._  Reed Richards and his little group? The Hulk? Not to mention anyone and everyone connected to strange incidents worldwide,  _just in case._  You've got just about every high-intelligence, super-powered kid within the ages of nineteen and twenty-two here. You're playing laboratory with a school, and I don't care how much SHIELD is capable of, when it blows up in your face, there's no force on earth that would make me help you. Not now, not ever."

...

"And I never even got my cheeseburger," he muttered as he stalked out.

* * *

 

_Three new messages from Tony Mother-Fucking Stark, 5:01pm_

ordered 7 pizzas

get the others

we need to talk

 

_Bruce Banner, 5:02pm_

everything all right?

 

_Tony Mother-Fucking Stark, 5:05pm_

bartons a backstabbing bastard and furys treating the entire populus of this school as lab rats slash his own personal army

...

but we should talk about this over pizza

pizza makes everything better

and beer

god i could use a beer right now

**Author's Note:**

> please _don't give me crit_ , constructive or not, even if you feel the need to point out a typo, i would appreciate it if you didn't. i do this for fun, and once i've posted something, i don't really want to think about it critically anymore. thanks.


End file.
